The Race to Save
by RegulusBlackIsAHero
Summary: Tauriel knew that Legolas would never let go of his weapons, so when she searches for him after healing Kili, she knows something terrible has happened. She learns Legolas is being taken to Dol Guldur and the unspeakable is occurring on the pathway there. Can she, with the help of a few grateful dwarves,find him and rescue him before Legolas is lost? Spoilers: Desolation of Smaug
1. The Capture

Legolas snarled as he faced another orc. Tauriel had disappeared – he didn't know where. He was worried for her, though he should not have been. She could take care of herself. He knew of her skill well – they had known each other for many years.

"Saura yrch!" he spat, lunging forward and driving his sword toward the despicable creature. Roaring, the orc sidestepped his blow, slashing with his own sward. Legolas evaded the wicked blade with a twist, spinning around as a flash of movement behind him caught his attention. With a well-aimed stab, he killed the orc that had been creeping up on him. (Foul orc!)

Then arms swept around him, tightening their hold as he struggled. There was a laugh in his ear, and raging, he threw his head back, loosening the orc's grip. The orc shoved him away, and he crumpled forward onto the ground.

Pain exploded through his head as it hit the hard stone, and Legolas cursed, trying to leap onto his feet, trying to protect himself as the yrch moved ever closer.

With deadly speed, it had reached where Legolas was trying to stop the flashing before his eyes. The orc grabbed his torso and pulled him to his feet. He laughed, ad Legolas could feel his hot breath on his face, smell the scent of rotting meat coming from its mouth. The orc was different from the others – smarter, stronger. It was meant for more than just killing.

It was meant to lead the others in battle. Legolas thrashed around, ignoring the sparks of fire in his head and the twisting of his vision.

"Leryalyen," Legolas protested, pushing against the orc's chest. The orc laughed louder, ignoring Legolas' attempts to free himself. (Release me!)

"The master needed an elf, and you will do just fine for him."

"Mapalyen vá," Legolas snapped, struggling harder to reach his elvish blades. The orc twisted him around, pulling at his arms until they were secured behind him. (You will not seize me)

"You do not have a choice, firstborn." The orc held both of Legolas' wrists in one of his hands and pulled his knives off of his person with the other. He then took Legolas' bow and, with a cackle, snapped it and dropped the quiver beside it. "You aren't going anywhere, elf."

"Nay! Nánye –" The orc growled and shook Legolas, jarring him and making his head spin. (No! I am-)

"You are what, elf? At my mercy? My master has a good use for you. You will serve him loyally, elf, and perhaps, you might get to kill that little she-elf of yours, too."

" Vanyë!" (I won't!)

"But you will, elf. Once my master has you." Legolas wrenched his arms and shoulders, now even more desperate to break the orc's grasp. He pulled an arm free and twisted, slamming it into the orc's face. The orc's grip loosened, and Legolas stumbled as the orc let go. He heard the clang of steel and grasped one of his knives. Spinning, he met the orc's blade.

"You will fall, elf," the orc growled.

"Vá!" Legolas exclaimed. Legolas knew that the orc was skilled – it had already proven that. He wasn't sure that he could win this battle, especially without being wounded. Legolas had to flee. (I will not!)

Where was Tauriel?

"Tauriel!" he called as the orc lunged again.

"Calling for your she-elf," he snarled. "She will not help you." Legolas knew that Tauriel would have answered if she could, and the fact that she didn't was worrying. She couldn't be dead, right? He shook his head.

Battle was the last time for thoughts such as those. He dodged and struck, trying to at least wound the powerful enemy. The orc slashed, and it caught Legolas' hand. With a small cry of pain, his knife fell from his grasp. Wasting no time, the orc grabbed him again and pulled back with a yell.

Legolas closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. It came as expected, slamming into his temple. He felt a brief pain, and then black nothingness.

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Tauriel leaned over Kili, watching him sleep, now peaceful, no longer dying. She had saved him in the nick of time. Even minutes later would have caused him to fall into darkness. Stepping back, she watched him breathe for a moment, remembering what he had said.

He had believed seeing her was a dream, but he was sick, and what he said could not be taken as truth. She could not believe in the ramblings of a dwarf near death. Besides, it should not matter what he said. She loved Legolas, did she not?

"Legolas," she breathed aloud. Turning, she looked at Fili. "Has Legolas arrived?"

"Er –" Fili mumbled. "No, my lady. I haven't seen him."

"That troubles me," Tauriel admitted. "I am going to see if he is alright. Watch over Kili. He should sleep peacefully."

"Of – of course, my lady. But someone should go with you. Just in case. There are enemies and spies in this city – not to mention the orcs."

"I can take care of myself, dwarf," she said, a bit sharper than she meant to be.

"I – I know," Fili said. "But I'll still come. Just in case. The others can watch over Kili."

"Alright," Tauriel muttered, knowing that if Legolas was in trouble, then she had to help him now.

She spun and left the small home, allowing Fili to follow her.

"What is your name, master dwarf?" she asked, her eyes scanning the road.

"I am Fili, brother of Kili. Thank you for saving my brother."

"You are very welcome. He did not deserve such a death." Tauriel froze. "Vá," she whispered. Fili looked across the stones. There were weapons on the stones, lying abandoned. Fili could easily recognize the elvish make. Tauriel ran to them, already knowing that something terrible must have happened. Legolas would never willingly let go of his weapons.

Tauriel passed the bodies of orcs, ignoring them, until she heard a small laugh. Turning, she saw one of the orcs was alive – mortally wounded – but still alive.

"You – you search for the elf!" he rasped. "You will never find him." Tauriel lunged to him and pulled him up.

"Tell me where he is," she demanded. The orc showed his teeth in a strange imitation of a grin.

"Bolg. Bolg takes him to Dol Guldur. To his master. The Necromancer."

"No," Tauriel breathed. "Why?" The orc laughed.

"The Necromancer has plans. Plans to defeat Mirkwood."

"Legolas would never give away our secrets!" Tauriel snapped.

"Perhaps not," the orc groaned. "But the Necromancer is not looking to find your secrets, she-elf! He's looking for someone to lead the troops into Mirkwood. Someone who knows it. An elf."

"He will not betray his people!" Tauriel shouted, shaking the orc. The orc wheezed out a laugh.

"He said the same thing when captured. But the Necromancer has dark magic that corrupts and alters, that sneaks and destroys. Your friend will change, Tauriel. He will not have a choice."

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**Hey, everyone! Yes, I know I shouldn't be starting a new fic, but this idea would not leave me alone! I promise not to ignore my fics because of this new one… **

**I'm following movie-verse for this (I know, I know, sorry.) But Tauriel and Legolas don't exist in book-verse, so I can't use that. However, Azog most likely will not be mentioned because it annoys me that Peter Jackson brought him back to life instead of just using Bolg, his son, the whole time.**

**Please review! Tell me if this is worth continuing! Also – sorry for any mistakes in the Quenya. I'm new to writing with that.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or the Hobbit.**


	2. The Prince

Legolas let out a small groan as his eyes flickered open. At once, he was aware of the sickening, jumpy movement beneath him.

"Awake, elf?" a voice growled. Legolas jolted, trying to sit upright and snapped his eyes open. At once, he saw the ground beneath him, flying past. His mouth opened in a soundless shout of shock and fear, and he struggled to pull himself upright.

In a moment, he realized that his wrists were tied behind him, and he was lying across the warg, in front of the orc who had captured him. Legolas closed his eyes as the warg's movement (and his situation) made him feel sick. Without seeing the sky, Legolas had no idea what time it was – or for how long they had been riding. If he knew, then he could perhaps learn of their destination – and how to escape.

"Why take me?" Legolas groaned, trying to ignore the systematic pounding in his skull.

"The Necromancer wants you," Bolg growled.

"The – the Necromancer?" Legolas breathed, his voice trembling due to his pain and terror.

"In Dol Guldur there rises a force long forgotten. All flee. All die. He needs an elf, elf."

In Dol Guldur? Legolas shuddered. He had long believed the ruins to be abandoned. However, as Tauriel had said, the spiders came from there. Evil magic resided in its walls. Death lied within and spilled into the forests of Mirkwood, killing the firstborn and bringing terror to their hearts. Too many of the Eldar had died because of it.

"Why does he need an elf?" Legolas breathed. Bolg laughed, quietly at first, but then louder, until the laughter echoed over the plains and seemed to surround them.

"You will find out, elf, and then you will wish to not know."

Legolas groaned again as the warg caused a particularly powerful jerk.

"The others will save me," he breathed. "I will be freed."

"And who will free you?" Bolg snarled. "Certainly not your she-elf! You called for her, did you not? You called – but she stayed with the dwarves. And the dwarves are now dead." Legolas froze. Tauriel… was dead.

No, she couldn't be. She was a skilled fighter. Tauriel could not be defeated by mere orcs.

"You don't believe me, elf? She was distracted – trying to save her little dwarf friend from his wound," the orc growled. "She betrayed you, did she not? Why do you care that she is dead?"

"She – she was protecting him?" Legolas whispered.

"Oh, yes, elf. She was fierce, but two lives are too many to protect in battle. She was weak. She could have saved herself, but instead, she failed and all are dead."

"Tauriel is not a fool! She is experienced in battle! She could not have been defeated because of such folly," Legolas protested.

"I grow tired of your denial, elf, and I grow tired of your voice. I do not wish to hear you speak again – until you are screaming and begging for mercy."

"Vá!"(I will not!) Legolas exclaimed. "I will never break. I will never fall. You may have put my physical being at your mercy, but my mind is free, and you will never take that from me."

"Never is a strong word for such a weak being, my delusional elf. We'll see how long your defiance lasts. The Necromancer has plans, great plans, terrible plans, and you, little elf, are in the middle of them."

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Tauriel shook the orc.

"What do you mean?" she snapped. "Tell me!" The orc chuckled, then groaned as Tauriel grasped his shoulders and pulled him upright. His eyes rolled backwards, and he went limp in Tauriel's arms.

"Tell me!" she demanded again, seeming to not see the unconscious orc as worry for her friend increased.

"Tauriel!" Fili said quietly. "This will not help Legolas. We know where they are heading. They left on warg. We need to leave quickly." Tauriel turned to the small dwarf. Fili saw that her eyes were filled with pain and hate. He knew that she blamed herself.

In the sheerest moment, Tauriel hid everything caught in her eyes. Aloof, she asked,

"When did it become 'we,' master dwarf?"

"When you saved my brother from shadows and death. By my axe, we will rescue your friend from Dol Guldur, and he will be alive," Fili said.

"You plan to leave your brother," Tauriel asked, surprised. Fili frowned, not wanting to leave his brother.

"I- if I must, my lady. I do not wish to leave him."

"I see that in you. You care for him… as do I. I would not feel right forcing you to abandon your kin in order to help Legolas."

"Neither would I feel right allowing you to set off alone, Tauriel. If that orc was telling the truth, this mission will be hard with even a thousand troops."

"Yet, I must try, master dwarf. Legolas cannot be expected to escape. And he must escape, of that I am sure."

"Do you love him, if I may ask, my lady?" Fili questioned. He had seen her with Kili, and he knew Kili was attracted to her. Fili had to ask if his brother's attraction was unrequited.

"I do not know, master dwarf, but I do know we will never be more than friends. His father has promised me that," Tauriel said. She turned her head away from Fili as she spoke.

"Can he not make his own decisions? Must his father control who he loves and who loves him?" Fili asked. He had only seen the elf – Legolas – when he was angry or fighting. He was skilled – Fili had to grant him that. Legolas had also seemed stubborn and narrow-minded. He had made it very clear that he disliked – even hated – dwarves.

"Legolas can make his own decisions!" Tauriel defended. "King Thranduil only reminds him that he is choosing the next queen, too. I am not worthy of such a position." Fili froze. Suddenly, he thought of Thorin's anger at the Elvenking. He remembered stories of the elves only watching as Smaug stole Erebor and killed dwarves and men alike.

King Thranduil was hated by every homeless, wandering dwarf cast out of their unforgotten home. He was Legolas' father.

"Legolas is King Thranduil's son? He – he is the prince?"

"Yes," Tauriel said. "He is the prince, and the realm could fall if he were to be lost."

"Why would the realm fall?" Fili asked. He felt foolish to ask that, but he truly did not understand. Tauriel sighed.

"You must understand – you have only seen Legolas as he appears to an enemy. Legolas is kind when King Thranduil is cold. He is calm when King Thranduil is angry. He protects our borders when King Thranduil only orders that the enemies must be kept out. Legolas is loved by Mirkwood, and he is loved by King Thranduil. The King has already lost his wife and eldest son. Must he also lose Legolas?"

Fili thought, silent, unmoving. Legolas was certainly different than he had acted towards the dwarves. With his clear disrespect and hate, Fili would have never believed he was capable of great kindness or goodness.

However, Tauriel said he was, and she certainly knew the elvish prince better than he did. Legolas had treated them as an enemy. Of course he would treat them differently than his people.

"If he is important to his people, then all the more must he be rescued. Why do you not find other elves to help save him?" Fili asked. "If they think much of him, then they would be willing to help."

"Of course," Tauriel said. "Many would be willing, but Thranduil would be blinded by rage. He would imprison me – of that I know. Legolas has kept him from imprisoning many over slight folly."

"He would imprison you and keep you from helping his son?" Fili questioned. That didn't make sense to him. After all, it was clear Tauriel cared, and another elf to help their party would be greatly appreciated.

"Fili, you must understand that I was never allowed to leave to help Kili. Legolas left in pursuit of me, to get me back before his father's anger would ensure I lost my position as captain of the guards."

"So he would blame you," Fili concluded. "We cannot do that, but I also believe we need more than two in order to rescue him."

"I believe so also, but we need to leave now – or else we will be too late. Who knows where they are now?"

"I do not know who else we could bring. Ӧin and Bofur would be the obvious, but we would have to bring Kili, and we have no weapons."

"Kili will sleep for a day – at least. The poison is still being flushed out of his body. If there is no other option, then we can bring him. We would need horses. Can that human help you again?"

"I do not know," Fili said. "He was angry with our quest and did not know our intentions when he assisted us."

"We must try," Tauriel said. "I will try to save Legolas, no matter what happens. But – help would be appreciated."

"I will also try," Fili promised. "No matter if we find help or not."

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**Hey, everyone! Another chapter finished! Hope you guys like it!**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and readers!**

**Disclaimer: Tolkein owns all! And Peter Jackson owns the strange twists of movie-verse!**


	3. The Nightfall

Fili and Tauriel locked eyes and nodded, staring at each other, into each other's soul. Fili would repay the debt he owed her. But this meant so much more than that.

By agreeing to help each other – to work, side-by-side, they were making history, defying precedents. In all truth, they should sniff at each other and turn away. Kili should be dead – why would Tauriel try to save him?

But they were more than that, and the love of life itself had brought Tauriel to save Kili. It now brought Legolas into grave peril.

"We must return to the others. They will be worried," Fili said.

"Of course," said Tauriel. She turned, once again aloof, looking beautiful, hiding her pain and terror for her friend deep within herself.

Fili began to walk alongside of her. For a long moment, they were silent – two companions – and the silence was not awkward. Then Fili looked up to Tauriel.

"My lady," he said, gravely. "T'is okay to show fear and pain at the face of nightmares." Tauriel took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her composure.

"I have been through much pain and hardship, Fili. I have faced nightmares. T'is easier to hide pain than fall to it," Tauriel said. For a second, Fili only stared at her. Stony, strong, she reeked of strength and power.

He could see why Kili was drawn to her, and he applauded his brother's ability to go against the role laid out by generations to act upon his feelings.

"I know you have been through hardship, my lady. I can see it in your great strength. You hide behind a mask, and I fear it can fall at ill-fated times," Fili said.

"I am strong enough to get through this!" she snapped, rage flashing in her stoic face.

"I know, my lady. It was only a suggestion, of course."

"I am sorry, Fili. I am upset, but that is no excuse to snap at you," Tauriel said with a sigh. "It-"

"Builds up inside of you until it overflows?" Fili said. "My lady, you must let it out sometime."

"Perhaps you are right, master dwarf."

"Oh, my lady, you do not know me well. I am always right," Fili jested. Tauriel smiled for a moment before her eyes darkened again. Woe was the ailment that plagued her so her mind could not be free and open to kindness and love.

Fili opened the door to the small house, slipping in with Tauriel behind him.

"How is Kili?" he asked immediately.

"He sleeps peacefully," Ӧin said. "There is no change."

"That is how it should be," Tauriel said. She looked to Fili, unable to tell them of Legolas' fate.

"We have bad news. The elf Tauriel travelled with – Legolas – has been captured. They ride to Dol Guldur on wargs. We must follow, and we must rescue him." Fili wasn't sure what the response would be, but he knew it would be bad.

The two dwarves that were actually conscious had no reason to help Tauriel, and Legolas had been nothing but ruse to all of them. In fact, Fili was rather sure that Legolas had stood on Bofur's head while fighting on the river.

"The elf!" Bofur exclaimed. "Why would we save him? He was not welcoming nor kind, and his King nearly killed us all!"

"Tauriel saved Kili, and she will ride after Legolas."

"So? Kili is not okay; he is not awake. The sleep is unnatural; is he even truly healed?" Ӧin said.

"Saes – please. Fili has promised to help me, but t'is a suicide mission for two."

"How could we even help?" Bofur asked. "Especially with Kili."

"We would need horses, and you would need weapons. We would bring Kili – he will awaken and be healed! Then we would save Legolas, my friend."

"Fili?" Ӧin asked. "You will go on this quest?"

"Yes, I will," Fili said. "I must repay her for saving my brother."

"Then I will come, too," Ӧin said. "We dwarves stick together!"

"As will I," Bofur said, but he still glanced mistrustfully at Tauriel.

"Thank you," Fili said. "We need to find Bard or one of his family."

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Legolas drifted in and out of consciousness as the warg rode on, helpless, pain flashing through his head. He groaned as the warg jarred to a stop. Forcing his eyes open, he realized that it was dark. He could see hardly anything.

"We stop for the night!" Bolg ordered. "Set up camp!"

Other orcs climbed off their wargs and began to build a fire. Legolas knew they could see better at night, and he knew these were no ordinary orcs. Normal orcs could not travel by daylight – it burnt their skin and was too painful except in the most desperate of occasions. These orcs had to be using dark magic – or they were new orcs, better, more improved orcs.

Bolg dismounted the warg with a grunt of effort. Legolas began to slip off, unable to stop himself, without Bolg holding him on. With a chuckle, Bolg grabbed him as he tilted, sliding off to the ground. He caught Legolas just before he hit the ground.

"So… helpless, elf. What happened to your strength, your poise? You are weak, elf, and you will break. I will make sure of that."

Unceremoniously, he dumped Legolas to the ground. Unable to catch himself, Legolas hit hard against it. Holding back a cry of pain, Legolas tried to roll over to his back, tried to protect himself as fear lit a fire within him.

"We rest for the night! There are no pursuers, and no one to hear the elf scream!"

Legolas' heart began to race. They intended to torture him. He knew what torture could do to soul and body. Yes, he of all elves, knew of torture. It had been he who rescued his broken mother and brother. He had seen their unseeing eyes and torn, bleeding skin. Legolas had seen the pool of blood under them.

That was going to be him. They were going to torture him – to break him – to destroy him.

The people of Mirkwood would search for him. Once they learned of Tauriel's death and his own capture. Someone would bring them his lost weapons.

'Legolas Thranduilion! Legolas Thranduilion!" they would cry, but there would be no Legolas Thranduilion to answer.

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**Hey, guys! I know this is a short chapter, but the next scene is going to take time to write, so I wanted to post this. **

**A few things I need to address:**

**-The last line: I got the idea from **Vladimir Nabokov **who used a line somewhat like mine.**

**-The orcs. Yes, I know. I screwed up. Normal orcs cannot travel by daylight, so I bullshitted a reason that mine were because I had stuff planned and couldn't change it.**

**-Legolas' past. I made up a bit of my own. It is not against canon because there is no canon for it. I tried to make something that fits and will be alluded to throughout the story.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own! Tolkien owns all!**


	4. The Torture

Legolas stared at his captor, his destroyer, bent on killing him slowly, painfully, ripping him apart. How could he survive this?

How could he survive what his mother and elder brother could not?

Legolas was weak – he conformed to the society's standards. Tauriel had been strong, not afraid to protect the life of one who should have been an enemy. He had not been able to look past the being's race, but he had followed Tauriel anyway.

Legolas couldn't help but see every centimetre of the orc's face. His elvish eyes took in every hill and valley of the white and red skin. He could see every battle scar, every piece of torn skin. The blackness of Bolg's pupils screamed at him, and he stared into the fiend's eyes, into eyes of the being who only wished to cause him pain and suffering.

He stared at the one who had ordered Tauriel to be killed.

The orc reached forward and grabbed him, hauling him off the ground. Legolas was forced and manhandled towards a large tree. He could hear the snickering of the orcs, standing still, watching him, hating him. Bolg forced him up against the tree, pulling his arms even harder behind his back, causing Legolas' shoulders to scream with tension.

The orc's leader untied his bonds, and for a moment, Legolas felt star-crossed excitement enter his mind. He could escape; he could save himself.

Immediately, he tried to struggle, tried to throw the terrible being off of him, tried to save himself. Bolg growled in Legolas' ear, angry – furious – at his prey's show of strength. Bolg shoved Legolas with his shoulder, still holding his wrists in his vice-like hands. Legolas stumbled forward, colliding with the fair tree.

He heard the tree cry out for him as the orc overpowered him. Bolg pulled Legolas' arms, spinning him so they wrapped around the thin tree. Legolas kicked back, wrenching his arms, blonde hair flipping through the air as he tried, desperate, to save himself and to get away.

"Fool!" the orc spat. "You are weak, elf! You cannot escape!"

"Tya quetië sangwa saura yrch!" (Your words are poison, foul orc!) Legolas spat.

"Foul, you say," the orc said, quiet, with a fierce smile. "If I am foul for following orders given by kin, then what will you be when your spirit is gone, and you follow orders from my master?"

"Qualin nauvan," (I will be dead.) Legolas said, voice matching the orc's in volume but much harsher.

"The defiance in you will be dead, elf, but your body will not be cold and your soul not departed. Only torn apart and ripped to shreds.

The orc tied Legolas' arms around the tree trunk, leaving him standing, relatively unharmed, facing the tree, unable to move much. For a moment, the orc was gone, then Legolas heard a loud rip. Resisting the urge to look behind him, demanding that he take the torture without fear or show of pain, Legolas stayed still, stoic, and strong. He could hear the orc stepping behind him. Bolg's terrible hands came into view just before a long strip of material was wrapped around his eyes.

"I would gag you, elf, but there is no one here to listen to your screams. Beg for mercy, elf, but know that it will not come." Legolas did not answer, but his expression did not change, conveying his message clearly and stronger than words could.

_You cannot touch me. You cannot change me. I would like to see you try._

And Legolas knew that they would try. The neldon (beech) tree shuddered for him, crying for the firstborn's predicament. Legolas could feel it trembling under his motionless body. The young tree saw all – it knew what was coming even though Legolas did not.

Legolas leaned his head against the trunk ever-so-slightly, seeking comfort and peace.

The tree responded, gently lowering its branches, trying to protect the wood elf when it knew it could not.

Legolas felt the tree jerk around him. He knew that whatever was coming was about to happen. A sharp snap bit through the air, shattering the peace and silence. Legolas had a moment to wonder what it was before sharp pain assaulted his back. He hissed quietly, feeling as though fire had been unleashed onto him, streaking across his body, burning and breaking the skin.

Suddenly, the blackness that surrounded him seemed darker and bigger than before. It seemed more mysterious and more terrifying. What would happen to him?

He was at the most twisted being's mercy. The orc could do anything to him as long as he stayed alive in order to face more torture.

Another snap echoed and slammed into his back. This time, knowing the pain but not prepared for it – never prepared for it – he did not hiss his pain aloud. The fire spread through him once more, cutting him, chopping him, and tearing him. He wondered how any body could take such abuse.

He could hear the orcs around him cheering.

"How many!" Bolg growled to the others, voice loud with excitement and anticipation. "How many?"

"Twenty lashes!" the orcs screamed back, the harsh cries echoing in Legolas' pounding ears, replaying in his mind. He had to survive eighteen more strokes of fire.

"Count, elf!" the orc demanded. "Or I will not count the stroke." Legolas did not move, did not show he understood.

There was a snap, and Legolas could not help but flinch slightly, feeling the tree flinch with him, cry for him as pain erupted from his back. He did not make a sound, too strong to give in and give the orcs what they wanted.

He was silent. He was strong.

No orc could take away his strength.

He would be safe in his own mind. Silent.

Nothing could prevent him from his will to speak nothing.

Fire flashed through his back, screaming at him and tearing at him.

He would win the fight. Fire flew through him, crashing against his will.

He was still silent, nothing could stop him, nothing could break him.

Legolas refused to count. The fire could not make him, could not-

The tidal wave of pain crashed over him, drowning him.

Blood rolled from the fire, not stopping the blaze

He held back a cry, biting his own tongue.

He was silent and strong and stoic.

He was silent and strong.

He was silent.

He was-

"One!"

He screamed, unable to hold it back any longer. He could not stop the fire from blazing down him, the blood from rolling and dripping down his body. Each strike was a wave of pain, each strike drowned him in the blaze. He could not stop it; he could not save himself.

"Good, elf," the orc said. "Nineteen more."

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Tauriel stood before the man. He was tall and strong, seeming angry and frustrated. Tauriel, a master at blank masks, could see the cracks in Bard's. She could see the fear and the pain.

Yes, he was angry. Yes, he was frustrated.

But his feelings were so much more than any of that.

"I will help you," he growled. "But do not ask for more! I have done too much already."

"Thank you, Bard," Tauriel said. "You have helped Mirkwood greatly."

"Remember that!" Bard snapped. "When your King is angry that we helped the dwarves! Remember that when he refuses to trade with us! And fix it!"

"I will. We need horses and weapons. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Bard growled. "I'll return in the morn with the supplies. Wait for me, and do not do anything foolish."

Tauriel dipper her head, turning and motioning for the angry dwarves to follow as she left the human. Shaking her head at the stubborn man, she suddenly realized why King Thranduil and their kingdom had little to do with other races. She had never met someone more infuriating – unless she counted King Thranduil himself.

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**Hey, guys! So, I tried my first ever torture scene! Also, I tried to play with the formatting. Hopefully, won't screw with that.**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to my old reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all!**


	5. The Arrival

Tauriel sat still, waiting, anticipating Bard's return. The shock of Legolas' capture was fading; she could think about it much more clearly now. For Legolas to have been captured… the enemy had to be strong.

No mere orc could capture him, and she doubted the leader could either. Legolas was an amazing fighter; she would know. He had been at her back, fighting side-by-side with her for over five centuries. In that time, she had only seen him injured once.

And that one time, she had seen him nearly destroyed. Tauriel had seen him near his breaking point, and she knew that both of them were changed that day. Legolas had become colder, more distant. He still smiled, still laughed, but it was clear that something was different.

King Thranduil had embraced the change. He believed it made his son stronger, less likely to fall. The King then on tried to train Legolas to be more like himself, unfriendly, remote. King Thranduil tried to make his light like Kili's version of starlight.

Cold.

Remote.

Yes, it was beautiful.

Yes, it was strong.

But it was also unreachable. For years, she had seen Legolas' untouchable poise. He trusted her. She trusted him. They were friends in that sense. Tauriel had never seen him upset, never seen him worried. All of his true emotions were hidden, buried deep within to an area that she wasn't privy to. It hurt her immensely; she had been attracted to him for a long time. He saw her as only the Captain of the Guards.

Then Legolas began to change again. The kind elfling she had known began to immerge once more, stronger than before, smarter than before, but still the same person deep within. She had reveled in the new change, loving him more, watching him when he did not realize. He no longer had the emotionless face when facing her and the other elves.

Legolas would smile again; he would frown again. For the first time in centuries, he seemed truly alive. King Thranduil had noticed as well – for all his faults, he did love his son and pay attention to him.

He had told her – loud and clear – that he would never approve of Legolas loving her. Tauriel knew that even with the change in Legolas, he would never go against his father nor did she really want him too.

Legolas' newfound kindness that fallen when the dwarves arrived. If Tauriel had ever hoped that Legolas would go against his father, it was then. King Thranduil was merciless to the beings, as he was with any stranger. She had expected Legolas to be more welcoming, but he had treated them with contempt and anger, being crude and cold to them.

Tauriel had been so blind watching the new side of him that she hadn't realized he still hid things, deep below. King Thranduil had seemed smug; he had altered Legolas into how he saw fit. Tauriel knew he still poisoned Legolas' mind. Of course, what he taught wasn't bad or against what his people wanted.

King Thranduil was attempted to transform into what he believed to be a 'proper prince.' Tauriel was not the only one to notice the change, but no one had ever spoken it. She had seen glances of shock and surprise directed at him.

There were even glances of pity from those who knew what had changed him. King Thranduil had hidden what had happened. Everyone had rumors – but few knew the real truth.

Legolas had been wounded trying to save his mother and brother. If he hadn't been slashed – horrid and deep with hate and anger – then he might have gotten there in time. Legolas fell hearing their screams, hearing the jeers and laughs as the orcs tortured them.

Tauriel had never seen him cry over it. Legolas had shut down; he had broken. Hardly well enough to stand, he had fought and nearly lost his life pulling his family from the torture.

The two elves were too far gone – breathing but not alive – that they didn't see Legolas' fragile state, and they had sailed West, hurting him further.

King Thranduil had somehow connected to him. He built him up after his own image – which he firmly believed to be the right image of a king, cold and obsolete.

The other elves went months without seeing their prince, but once he emerged, it was obvious that he had changed. Legolas used to visit the Halls of Healing, helping sometimes and boosting morale. Now, he stood, head high, princely, untouchable and unable to connect with. He avoided conversation with other elves; it had taken him weeks to even speak with Tauriel.

And now. Now, Legolas was captured as his family had been. He could die, but Tauriel did not think they would kill him. The orc spoke of the Necromancer's plans for Legolas. They were terrible and dark, but she had hope because she knew Legolas would have to be alive for them.

They could still rescue him.

But what would he be like? Would his eyes glimmer and shine with life? Or would he be worse, like his mother, like is brother?

Would he sail to the West after all of this was finished? Would he hide behind a mask again?

Tauriel did not know, but she had any chance to save him, then she would. Prince Legolas Thranduilion would be saved; he would return to rule his kingdom when his time came.

Tauriel would promise that. However, she could not promise that she would return as well. She would fight long and hard, but if it came to only one elf escaping, it would be Legolas.

And though she tried to deny it, tried to make herself believe it would not be necessary, she did have a final plan.

It would only work in the worst case scenario, and she had no guarantee it would work at all.

In the end, if she had to, she could tell the orcs, tell the Necromancer that she would willingly take his place. Legolas would be defiant; he would be strong. Tauriel knew that, and that was why she believed that she could, perhaps, convince them to release Legolas and take her instead.

Because even if the orcs wanted Mirkwood, and she was forced, was corrupted, into leading them, the orcs would not win.

Because Mirkwood had Legolas on its side. It had a strong fighter, a prince, a leader. He would win the fight, whichever side he led.

It was her role to make sure he led his kin and his people.

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Legolas groaned, and his throat burned sharply, sending pain rocketing down his body. He blinked his eyes open to darkness – where was he?

There was movement from under him, but it was not the same feeling as the lurching gaits of the warg when it had been running nor did he feel the snapping wind against his body. They had stopped.

Legolas could feel the sick burning in his back as everything came back to him. He had been tortured, and he had given in. It was painful to think that he had given them what they wanted. They had wished for him to scream.

And scream he had. In his half-conscious state, he felt like he had hardly stopped screaming – screaming pain and combining it with broken Quenya and Westron numbers.

Eventually, he must have fallen unconscious. Legolas did not know how much time must have passed since then. It could still be night, or he could still be blindfolded.

Legolas felt rough arms seize him, and he couldn't help but let out a broken cry as they pulled his wounds.

"So the elf is awake," Bolg growled. "I had hoped you would be, elf. This way – you can remember this moment forever, elf. You are about to enter Dol Guldur. Welcome to pain and suffering more intense than anything you have ever felt, welcome to darkness and shadow."

"Welcome, elf, to your foulest nightmare."

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**Hey, guys! How's it going? Any predictions or comments or questions about anything then let me know!**

**To the guest who said it was goblins that couldn't travel through daylight: turns out, we were both wrong and right. Orcs, goblins, and Uruk-hai **_**can **_**all travel through day, but it affects them psychologically. Goblins are affected the most: they usually refuse to do it because of the mental pain (like a migraine) and loss of morale. Then orcs: they can travel through day because it only makes them annoyed and lose their morale. Finally, Uruk-hai, which are only annoyed by sunlight.**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all readers and especially reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all! **


	6. The Name

Legolas stared at the orc leader, defiance and anger mixed with the gut-wrenching pain in his eyes. Bolg seemed amused by his glare.

"You still do not believe you'll fall, elf," he chortled. Legolas glared back, trying to ignore the slight trembling of his hands. It was pain, not fear, which caused the trembling; no, Legolas could not find it within himself to fear what would come.

After all, his mother had faced worse. His brother had faced worse. They wouldn't have had to, had he been quicker, more careful, _stronger_…

Instead, he'd been weak, and their souls died. He hoped the Havens had healed them, saved them when he could not. Legolas had promised himself that he would not let another under his protection be hurt like they had.

Well, he had kept his promise. After all, it was he that failed at preventing the pain the first time, so it made sense that it was he to feel the pain the second time.

It seemed like a twisted, poetic justice.

His hands shook with pain. Every forced step caused half-formed scabs the grate and peel against each other, pulling in the worst ways. Legolas could feel the shreds of his tunic sticking in the wounds, dried blood covering the rags. His tunic would be difficult to remove, he thought, his head slightly fuzzy, drunk and confused from the tortured he had received mere hours before.

Legolas looked up as he was man-handled into Dol Guldur. He watched the sun rise, among small gray clouds but outshining them, making them look less important, less noticeable. The sun always had seemed harsh and arrogant, hiding the stars with its too-bright light.

As Legolas watched, one of the gray clouds drifted in front of the sun, covering it and casting the land into shadow. The arrogant sun had been covered. Its light still shone, but not nearly as brightly. Now, the cloud was obvious and noticeable in the sky. The sun shone on, unseen but not forgotten. Just as the stars do by day.

Then Bolg pulled him into one of the shadowy buildings, and he lost sight of the sky altogether. The shadows seemed to rush at him, thick stone closing in on him. He swallowed hard. Elves were meant for open spaces, and he could not stand small areas. He knew, however, that the area he was being held in was the least of his problems.

"Master," Bolg called, quiet, not calling the being forth but asking if he would show. Legolas saw the shadows deepen, drowning him in them, causing even is elven glow to seem less bright.

"Bolg," the voice said, echoing around him. Legolas looked around with horror. He could not see the one Bolg addressed, and the voice seemed to come from every direction.

"Master, the dwarves have left Laketown and entered Erebor. We could not prevent them from leaving."

"And tell me," the master growled, not seeming surprised that they had failed. "How do twelve weaponless, defenseless dwarves overcome a group of orcs under yourself, Bolg?"

"Two elves fought for them, master. I have captured this one for your plans."

"Wood elves, you say?" the voice hissed. "Tell me, elf, what is your name?"

Legolas was silent, still shaking in front of the blackness of the Necromancer. He had believed the evil being was human, but it was clear that he had been mistaken. No human could control light and shadow like this being could. He was stronger, his presence more terrible, more breathtaking and magnificent then any human's could hope to be.

With all the danger, Legolas suddenly realized that he was standing before one of the most powerful being's he had ever come across. Only Lady Galadriel could rival the Necromancer's power. It was intoxicating as it was dark, corrupting and vile but beckoning to him… calling to him.

Legolas shook his head, denying the call and declining to answer the Necromancer's question. He could feel the Necromancer's power pulse with anger at his refusal. Panic blossomed within him, but still, he refused to give in without a fight.

But he would give in. Even as one of the Eldar, even as a prince, he could not hope to stand alone against such a powerful, terrible being. His presence attacked Legolas' mind already, tearing at his will. He was weaker… drowning in the power… losing his will…

But he would go down fighting. The Necromancer would have to _force_ him into submission. He would not be corrupted as mere orcs were, would not be turned willingly (more or less) into a slave.

He had too much pride to just give in, even if that foolish pride could cause his own death.

The Necromancer's ire exploded in a burst of power. Legolas bit his lip to avoid crying out as the power actually scorched his face with its immense heat. It surrounded him, burning him, probing him harshly with its influence and telling him of its command.

"Your name, elf!"

Legolas stared at the shadows, darker than night, dripping of strength and force. He could not win this fight. He would fail, and he knew that.

True, he did not accept it, but there was little he could do. It was better to save his strength for greater fights, right?

Surely, his name, in the end, would not matter.

"Legolas of Mirkwood," he said proudly, holding his head high, staring into the shadow. He did not say he was a prince, nor did he say who his father was. That was not needed, and he doubted the Necromancer would recognize him by name alone.

Then, the monster chuckled.

"Legolas of Mirkwood," Bolg said, shaking his head with pleasure. "I met your brother, princeling, son of Thranduil." The Necromancer sniggered as well.

"This is the famed elf that rescued his family too late and was injured too badly to be of true help? Son of Thranduil? You will serve me well, son of Thranduil, and, when fulfilling _my_ duties, you will not fail as you have before."

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Tauriel awoke from fitful sleep the minute the sun rose above the horizon. She stood, silent, waiting for Bard. As expected, he came soon after the dawn. Tauriel awoke the dwarves, noting that Kili looked much better. He would awaken today.

Bard had gotten the horses, but he had only found make-shift weapons for the dwarves. Tauriel, loathe as she was to have to do so, gave the dwarves Legolas' weapons. His bow and arrows could not be used until Kili was awake and battle-ready, and Tauriel debated if she should give a dwarf, of all beings, Legolas' bow.

She had been with him as he made it. His old bow had been shattered while he attempted to rescue his family. He had made another out of an oak branch not long after he returned to civilization. Legolas had not spoken to her, but they had felt a brief connection. Tauriel had had to hang onto that connection for weeks before any words were spoken between them.

It seemed horrid and betraying to give Legolas' weapons to anyone, but she knew that it would be worse if they failed due to improper weapons.

So she brought the bow and arrows along. She and the dwarves – Bofur, Ӧin, Fili, and Kili – climbed onto the horses. Fili rode with Kili before him. Kili still slept on, but he was near waking, making small sounds and muttering words. He would be healed soon.

Tauriel knew they had set out late. The orcs rode wargs, which were naturally faster than horses. They were either nearing Dol Guldur or already there. She felt too late and wondered, once again, how much of Legolas would she rescue.

But she knew she had to try, of course, and she would rescue him with the dwarves. It meant a lot to her that the dwarves were willing to help.

"Thank you," Tauriel said quietly, breaking the thick silence.

"For what?" Fili said, gritting his teeth as he tried to control the horse and keep Kili upright as he shifted.

"For putting aside your prejudice to help an elf that gave you no reason to care about his capture," Tauriel said, meeting his eyes for a brief moment.

"Then thank you," Fili said. "For putting aside your prejudice to help a dwarf that gave you no reason to care about his blight."

"Not many would attempt what we are, you know," Fili continued.

"Dwarves and elves fighting on the same side?" Tauriel asked, slightly amused.

"No," Fili said seriously. "Raiding Dol Guldur and escaping with one of their prisoners. We saw its poison in Mirkwood. The forest was sick, and the Necromancer is the cause of all."

"He is but one human," Tauriel said stubbornly.

"Or is he?" Fili said. "The orc we faced, the leader, he was not a mere orc about to be controlled with bribes. No, he was created to lead, to destroy, and kill. Already, we dwarves knew that someone hunted to kill Thorin. I believe the Necromancer is behind all of it."

"Then you call our quest hopeless?" Tauriel asked.

"Hopeless?" Fili echoed. "No. No quest is hopeless unless you do not set out to accomplish it. Balin told us that escape was hopeless out of Mirkwood, and I think we managed it pretty well." Tauriel smiled at Fili and snorted.

"Pretty well?" she jested. "You escaped out of pure luck! The orcs showed up at just the right second for you to escape!"

"What's life without a little luck?" Fili asked. Tauriel looked at him, sitting holding his brother still as he began to wake.

"Is that why Kili carries the talisman? For the luck to return to his mother?"

"How do you know of that?" Fili asked, looking at her with sudden mistrust. Tauriel looked away, not liking the kind-hearted dwarf's steely gaze focused on her.

"He told me of it. What does it say?" Fili stared for another moment, then nodded, seeming to accept her answer.

"Are you sure you wish to know? For if anyone other than a dwarf were to read the words, then they would be cursed forevermore."

"But only if you believe in legends," Tauriel added. Fili laughed.

"Kili never did believe in those tales. It says "Come back to me" in our native tongue. Do not tell me that, with all of your years and wisdom, you have not learned it?" Fili joked.

"Alas, there was little literature on dwarves in Mirkwood that spoke of your kind as intelligent beings, let alone spoke of your language."

"You jest, my lady!" Fili exclaimed.

"Nay, I was taught as an elfling that your language consists of grunts and growls, and you are driven by nothing more than greed for gold."

"What made you second guess your lessons?" Fili asked.

"A certain promise," Tauriel said with a meaningful glance at Kili.

"Of course, my lady. Kili does have a tendency to go past expectations."

"That he does," Tauriel agreed fondly. "He also has quite a knack for the unexpected. Now, as you jest over my knowledge, would you teach me some of your dwarvish, Fili?"

"Perhaps," Fili said. "If you would teach me elvish?"

"I am afraid I do not speak elvish, master dwarf, but Quenya."

"Nor do I speak dwarvish, my lady. I speak Khuzdul and sign Iglishmêk," Fili said with a grin.

"Forgive me, master dwarf, for not knowing the ways of dwarves."

"Only if you forgive me, my lady, for not knowing of the elvish customs."

Tauriel looked at Fili, smiling and joking with him. Her thoughts of Legolas were not forgotten. No, they would be on her mind until he was safe. However, she now knew that she was not alone in her company of five. She had at least one person to talk to and trust.

Suddenly, it seemed a great burden was lifted from her shoulders.

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**Hey, guys!**

**Woohoo! Two chapters in a single day, and a long chapter to boot! Be proud of me and enjoy!**

**Tell me what you think of my more lighthearted part. Please review!**

**Thanks to all my readers!**

**Dislcaimer: Tolkien owns all!**


	7. The Awakening

Kili groaned, blinking open his eyes. At once, he felt himself restrained and realized he was tightly secured against another being. Fuzzy, he tried to remember what had happened.

He was a dwarf of Thorin's company. They had been captured by elves, and he had been wounded in their escape.

Then… nothing. Kili could not remember anything after that. He groaned, trying to force himself to remember, trying to realize what trouble he was in.

After a minute of attempting, he knew that forcibly trying to remember was pointless. Kili would have to open his eyes to actually learn anything. Muttering quietly under his breath, he forced his eyes open.

Immediately, light flooded his gaze, and he turned away sharply. He had a headache, but it wasn't unbearable. Rather, it was quite mild. Kili focused his eyes downward, looking at his wound. To his shock, it was nearly gone – there was only a loose bandage and a twinge – if not less – of pain. Kili knew that he was on a horse with another rider who had presumably been keeping him from falling off.

Of course, the question, as always, was if they were friend or foe. Kili could not believe that his enemies would be holding him gently – or allowing him to sleep at all. Unless they were in quite a hurry, then they would not waste a horse's energy on a prisoner.

Kili knew that the other being had probably felt him moving and knew he was awake. He risked turning his head to look at the one behind him.

His brother sat there, looking at him with a concerned smile on his face. He seemed ecstatic that Kili had woken, but he also seemed concerned about his wounded brother.

"Awake, are you?" Fili asked, mouth twitching into a grin before falling back into a worried stare.

"Aye," Kili groaned. "What has happened, brother? Where do we ride?"

"A lot has happened, Kili," Fili warned. "The elf, Tauriel, has saved you from the poison that wracked your body. Her companion, Legolas of Mirkwood, has been captured. Due to the debt we owe to her and due to our own kinship with each other, we have agreed to help."

"Everyone?" Kili mumbled. "But what about the mountain? What happened, Fili?"

"You do not remember?" Fili asked, troubled. "That does worry me. We shall ask Tauriel upon her return if that is normal. Thorin and all others but Ӧin, Bofur, myself, and yourself rode across the lake to the Lonely Mountain. They work to complete our quest."

"Why are we not with them?" Kili asked, trying to process the information he'd been given so quickly and matter-of-factly.

"Bofur was late to the boat, and you were injured. I stayed with you because of a promise made, and Ӧin knew his place was with the injured, rather than the warriors."

"No!" Kili protested. "Do not tell me that you gave up the ability to gaze at Erebor among the first of our kind to do so again for my sake! Why did you not go? You belong with that company."

"I belong with you, brother," Fili stated. "You know that. We would stay together – we have made sure of that for this entire quest. I would not finish it without you. We will see Erebor again, and we will see it together."

Kili nodded, too overwhelmed to actually protest his decision. The others had left and presumably entered Erebor already. He and three others had been left behind due to his ailment, which Tauriel had healed.

Suddenly, his heart gave a strange lurch. Tauriel. He had dreamed of her calling to him through the darkness. When nothing light was in the world of shadows, she entered his dreams and called him back, forced him into the light again.

"Did – did Tauriel truly save me?" he asked wonderingly.

"Yes, brother," Fili said. "Do you know her well?"

"Not as well as I would like," Kili admitted. "Do you think she would ever truly like me, Fili?" Fili looked at him, confused.

"Tauriel does like you; she saved you. If that is not a bond of kinship, then I do not know what is."

"No, brother, you misunderstand," Kili said impatiently. "Do you think Tauriel could ever – love – me?"

"I –" Fili stuttered, shocked at what his brother had admitted. "I do not know. I only know that Tauriel has gazed on you in these past days with fondness and friendship. She truly wished to save you, Kili. Perhaps something could happen between you."

"I hope you, brother," Kili said, beginning to drift to sleep. "She is beautiful, is she not? So fine and fair. How could an elf such as she ever love me?" He closed his eyes and, once again, fell to sleep. Fili sighed, staring at his brother.

On one hand, he wished that his brother had been delirious to say such things as proclaiming his love for an elf. On the other hand, however, it made sense. Fili knew that they had talked. Tauriel had said that when she mentioned his stone and his promise. It was also clear that Tauriel cared about his life. If she cared as only a companion, Kili would be heartbroken.

Fili knew his brother well. He had never known Kili to be so moonstruck over a woman. This was new territory – literally. Fili could remember no history of love between dwarves and elves in any of the books he had ever studied. As the nephew of a king, he had studied a lot, training to be the king one day.

Unless the books he read were too biased – and they were biased – to mention the love between an elf and a dwarf, then there had been none. Tauriel and his small company of four had already broken history, travelling well and travelling efficiently together. Now, Kili wished to change history even further. He loved an elf, and as Fili thought, there was quite a chance that Tauriel returned his love.

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Legolas trembled before the shadows. They tortured his mind, trying to break his will, to melt it until it bended to the Necromancer's. The shadows echoed the Necromancer's words, making them seem more menacing, more terrible and powerful than before.

Legolas bit his lip, trying to hide his fear, and looked directly into the darkness. He ignored Bolg's grip on his arms, fastening him into place. He could not run; he could not hide. However, Legolas wished to do neither of those things. He would face this as one of the Eldar – proud, resourceful, and hopefully saved in the nick of time.

"I will never bend to your will. I will never fight for you. You wish to break me, to make me an aide for your evil, terrible ends. I refuse. I am durable as the rivers, always flowing, always going. I am tall as the trees, reaching for the sun unfailingly, no matter the time. I am strong as the earth, walking its sands for thousands of years. Necromancer, you cannot touch me." Legolas glared into the fiendish being. He heard a laugh, not from Bolg – who had angrily tightened his hold on Legolas' arm. The Necromancer was laughing, and the harsh sound echoed among the cave, surrounding Legolas.

"Elf, princeling," the shadows called. "You are easy to deceive, my delusional elf. You say you are durable when rivers can dry and flood, defenseless from the rain and sun. You say you are tall, when trees fall and die to fire and flame, becoming weak, becoming nothing. You say you are strong when stone and sand can be crushed underfoot and burned and hacked away. Fear me, princeling. I dare you not to."

"I will never fear you; I will never give in to you," Legolas stated, cold, sure of himself. "No matter what is done, no matter if light deserts me, I shall still fight, and one day, I will win."

"And what is winning, elf?" the Necromancer replied. "Is it escape? Or death? Escape is impossible – you will learn that quickly. And death? Death from these weapons, in this place of terrible strength, causes confinement in the shadow world. You do not wish to be a servant, elf? How about a wraith?"

"You jest!" Legolas declared. "You cannot control death, as much as you would try, Necromancer. You will never control nature, nor bend it under your will. I am nature, and I am not weak."

"Have you not said that before?" the Necromancer growled. "You said you were strong as nature when even the wild falls before me. Elf, she what you could become!"

Suddenly, images flashed through Legolas' mind. He saw himself, powerful, stronger, radiating dark power. Legolas saw himself in front of an army. He watched as Middle Earth fell before him, weaker than him. He was stronger than the Earth, stronger than the sea. Legolas would feel no sea-longing, he was above that. He would not lose his will over the cry of the sea.

Tauriel stood before him, alive, beautiful. She was perfect – as always, and yet, she looked even more stunning bowing before him, the aloof, powerful creature, at his feet. All would respect him, all would fear him. The whole of Middle Earth would know his name.

Legolas Greenleaf.

Destroyer.

Rebuilder.

Power.

Beauty.

He would be everything, and everything he ever wanted would be his…

All he had to do… was agree with the Necromancer's plans.

He had to enter the darkness.

Legolas took a step towards the Necromancer, nearly swaying, drunk on his own power. Then a picture of Tauriel as she truly was tore his thoughts away from what he could be.

Tauriel, dead, cold. She was not breathing because of her love for the dwarves. He was captured for the same reason.

"Nay!" he screamed. "I will not give in! You will not corrupt me, Deceiver!"

"Are you sure, son of Thranduil? You were meant to be a king, worshipped and strong. Instead, you cower in darkness because you do not embrace power. You are fond of the dead she-elf? If you are powerful, then you can bring her back!"

Suddenly, the shadow before him erupted into fire, blazing him with intense heat. Legolas cried out, shielding his eyes as much as possible. A silhouetted form gazed out at him. It was clearly an elf.

Tauriel.

"Together, we would have the power to save her! She would return, safe, in your arms, and no one would dare take her away again! You protest – but what about your family? They reside in Valinor, and one day, soon! We can go there. We can overtake the West, and they can be saved; they can be healed. Do you not want your family saved, Legolas? You were weak once, and you failed. Change now! And save them, Prince of Mirkwood."

"You say that I would save! But what would be the cost? Countless immortal lives would be destroyed. You say that Tauriel would return to me? Would she not be sickened by what I have become? And you mention saving my mother and brother. Were you not the one to cause their torture? Did you not relish in every cut they received, every time they were broken and screaming? You are a monster, and I will never join you of my own free will."

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**Hey, guys! I hope this is up to my normal standards! I pulled an all-nighter last night. On that note, HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

**Unfortunately, this is probably my last chapter before I drop to a once a week schedule. I go back to school tomorrow… **

**Tell me what you think! Please review!**

**Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything! It's all Tolkien's with a bit of Peter Jackson thrown in!**


	8. The Revealing

"You seem to have misunderstood me, _elf_," the Necromancer. "When I'm done with you, you will have no will. You will fall before me, desperate, pained, soulless. If you dare try to resist me, I will destroy you."

"A fire burns within me, bright and strong. Though it may fall and wither, fuel will revive it once more, and the hot coals will never cool," Legolas said, narrowing his eyes.

"You believe you can overcome me, son of Thranduil?" the Necromancer sounded amused as he spoke. "You are weak. You are nothing. Prepare to fall, princeling."

"You dare to say that to me! You dare to promise the shattering of soul, when you dare not emerge from your cover. Face me, Necromancer! You hide behind your shadows! They follow your will because they have none of their own. You are intoxicated with your power over beings with no will to resist! Can you control a willful being without them ever seeing your face? Emerge, Being in the Shadows! Let me see your face, and then I will, perhaps, fear! Let me know your name, Necromancer, not the title you hide behind! You are too weak to show yourself, instead hiding and biding time. Let me fear you, Necromancer. But know: you will not win. Fearful or not, I shall not give in, never give in. You will do well to know that, Lord of Darkness."

Legolas was breathing hard, each breath heavy as he grew angrier.

"Or are you a lord at all?" Legolas continued. "The shadows obey you; you are not human! But what are you? What is more powerful than a human, but just as scared, just as weak! Dare you hide from your prisoner? Dare you hide from your servants? Do you try to incite fear? Or do you try to keep their respect? You will never have mine, Sorcerer of the Shadows, for I would never follow a being too weak to show who they truly are. You know my name, Necromancer. I did not try to hide from it or deceive you. Who are you; what are you, Controller of Shadow?"

"You have courage, elf, but it will not save you! You will not taunt your way out of danger, son of Thranduil-"

"I do not taunt, and I do not deceive," Legolas snapped. "I will never fear a being hidden in darkness. Step into the light, Necromancer! Show me your face, Being of Shadows! Perhaps I was wrong, and you are human, and that is why you hide, human. You are weak, greedy, foolish. Do you expect to command any free being while you cannot step into the light! Weaponless, I am proud. Despairing, I am strong. I do not give in to the shadows. I do not fall before a being veiled in darkness. Do you fear me, Necromancer? Is that why you hide?"

"Do not speak of me in that way, princeling!" the Necromancer yelled. His voice echoed around Legolas, who spun, trying to find its original source."

"And why not? You will not even show where you stand! Do you fear that I -weaponless, injured - am stronger than you and your darkness? Or do you fear my gaze, Necromancer? Have you ever faced the stare of a free, powerful being? Do you crumble staring into it? Can you break me, Wizard of Darkness? Can I break you?" Legolas fell silent, still breathing heavy, eyes burning with contempt and hate.

The Necromancer's shadows pulsed with hate and fury. Legolas stood still, even as the room reached sweltering temperatures. He did not move, did not struggle against Bolg. The Necromancer did not speak, and Legolas balled his hands into fists.

Bolg, furious at the disrespect for his master threw Legolas to the ground, antagonizing him further as his wounded back hit the hard stone. Legolas did not cry out or show his pain.

He was too angry to give into it. Legolas pulled himself onto his knees, forcing himself off of his back while Bolg tried to keep him down. He knew he could not stand, so he kneeled, forced into a traditional show of submission but nowhere near defeated.

"You cannot even face me alone, Necromancer. Control me with your power! Do not use a slave to hold me still. He cannot stop me! You cannot stop me! Try your best, One of Shadows!"

The Necromancer was silent. The shadows seemed to glare and come ever closer to where Legolas kneeled, Bolg's hands on his shoulders to prevent him from standing.

"You cannot step out!" Legolas spat. "You belong in the shadows, in your darkness! You are like a shadow yourself, Powerful Being of Darkness! You prod and pull, poisoning my land, my forest, with your creatures and dark magic, but you do not defeat us! You do not prevail! Dare you not step into Mirkwood! You captured me so that I could lead your troops! You are too afraid to leave the cover of darkness! You need a free being to even be courageous enough to step out of your own borders!"

The Necromancer's shadows pulsed again, stronger. Legolas could feel the intense heat against him, but the pain did not register in his irate state.

"Bolg," the Necromancer ordered, amazingly calm considering how his magic was hardly under his control. "Leave us."

Bolg hesitated, seeming to make the Necromancer even more furious.

"Leave!" he ordered, and Bolg released Legolas. Legolas pulled himself to his feet, not wasting a second. He stood alone, defiant, not trying to run or hide before the darkness.

Suddenly, the darkness exploded outward, ricocheting into Legolas and throwing him backward. He slammed into the ground, letting out a small cry as small stones imbedded into his torn back. The shadows held him to the ground, keeping him from moving. He struggled, trying to break free from the darkness, but it veiled around him. He could see nothing but the black, hear nothing but the pounding of the shadow's silence in his ears.

Then the Necromancer spoke.

"You do not know who you speak to, elf!" he roared. Legolas opened his mouth to retort, but the shadows choked him, pressing on his chest and preventing him from speaking.

"You pretend to know me! You say I hide in shadow! I am more intelligent than your games! You cannot convince me to reveal myself to you before I am ready! But you do know me. You have heard whispers of my name! Your own father has fought against me, and I nearly enslaved the free people that you so insolently say I fear! Human, you call me! I have twisted humans into wraiths and elves into orcs! I have tortured beings into death and beyond where even the West could not heal them, and they are left in shadow!"

Suddenly, the shadows melted into flames. Legolas stared, eyes wide, unable to breathe as the shadows crushed his chest and held down his body.

The flames twisted into a form. A ring of fire formed into an eye, and Legolas found himself staring into the eye of Sauron the Deceiver.

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Tauriel had been restless. She couldn't stand just riding along, trying to reach Dol Guldur before Legolas was destroyed. It was terrible, and she could not bear the silent wait, even with Fili for company. So she had ridden ahead, telling Fili what she planned to do. He had reminded her to be careful, but the look of compassion and sympathy in his eyes had proved he understood.

Tauriel tuned into what the trees were feeling as she rode along. She had always relied on nature to calm her, but now, even the trees' sympathy and love could not stop her hands from shaking.

They spoke of freedom and hope, but deep down, she could tell that they feared what was to come. Like any being, though simple, the trees could tell that there was darkness breeding in Middle Earth, and it was reaching out over its borders. They were not made to think as other beings do. The trees did not think of good and evil. After all, what would be evil?

Even the fire that destroys trees and plants also gives fertile soil for the forest's rebirth.

The trees hated to see the agony faced by immortal beings. They called out with empathy, trying to heal and save as nature is supposed to.

The tall beings feared and hated the pain caused in Middle Earth. They were meant for peace, and they wished that it would stay that way.

The trees lived for fertile soil and a strong sun. That was all they longed for. Trees were never greedy, never jealous. They never had an ulterior motive. Tauriel loved that about them, and she used to spend hours conversing with them, caressed in their boughs, safe and secure.

Nature was peaceful yet strong. Every part had a purpose. The Eldar fit into their purpose, living among and even in the trees, safe in the branches. Men coexisted with the nature, falling trees to make their cities but respecting it all the same. Dwarves ignored the forest, preferring to burrow deep underground.

The Eldar had never understood that, hence why the races had never quite coexisted together. They were too different.

Orcs and goblins did not fit into nature. The abominations came from the north where land was barren and trees sparse. They had no respect for the knowledge a forest held, and they toppled and destroyed trees and life.

Nature hated no being; she could not hate a living thing, no matter its purpose, but nature also tried to warn her people, the Firstborn, of the other races and their activity. No other race had the connection that elves – especially wood elves - had with nature. Tauriel did not know how she would have made it so far without losing her sanity without the trees to calm her over the centuries.

As she rode on, ahead of Fili and the others, she began to notice a change in the trees. They spoke of intense sadness – no longer whispered of a warning. Worried, Tauriel stopped to listen. They rustled and groaned the story of an injured elf.

Tauriel swallowed hard. She knew they spoke of Legolas. He was hurt. Of course, she had suspected as much – no, she had _known_ he would be hurt – but to hear of its actual happening was terrifying.

She followed the whispers, spinning off the path and going a short distance into the forest. Before long, she came to a clearing that resonated with grief and pain. Dismounting, she stepped towards a large birch in the center of the clearing. She could see that the underbrush was trampled – by wargs, no doubt, and to her horror, she could see the remains of ropes on the tree.

Legolas had been tied there recently. Placing a hand on the tree, she asked the trembling being what had happened. Through simple language – old, traditional, and to-the-point – it spoke of pain and suffering, horror and hurt. It regretted its inability to help and cried out with grief for the tortured elf.

It led her around the trunk. There, on the white bark of the birch, dried blood stained the bark and stones. Tauriel stumbled backwards, not ready to see the clear signs of torture. What had Legolas gone through?

It was so much blood. She could see him – crying for pain, feeling betrayed and alone. Perhaps, he had tried to take comfort in the birch, but the comfort had not prevented him from bleeding out onto the stones.

She turned back, unable to look any longer. Stepping away, she remounted the horse, cantering back to the path. Feeling sick and airy, she decided to wait for the dwarves. Tauriel no longer wanted to find the remnants of torture and suffering or hear the whispers.

She sighed, praying that Legolas would be able to stay strong. Tauriel was coming to save him, and at the very least, she knew she was on the right path.

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**Hey, guys! One more chapter for the new year! I was just going to start it, but it kind of wrote itself, especially Legolas' monologues It's really fun to insult Sauron.**

**Please review! Tell me what you think!**

**Thanks to all readers and reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own! Tolkien owns all!**


	9. The Realization

Fili rode, making sure his brother wasn't going to fall off. Kili was sleeping deeper than before. He was no longer in a restless healing sleep but taking much needed time to recover.

Fili knew that Tauriel was troubled by how slow they travelled. Wargs were wicked fast and needed hardly any rest. The horses they had been given were not in the best condition and did not have good stamina. Fili knew that the long stretches where they had to allow the horses to go slow – or worse, stop completely - grated on Tauriel's nerves.

She was worried for her companion. Of course, they would not be trying to rescue him if she had not been. Fili had grown to like Tauriel during their travels. She was kind and witty, someone that it was enjoyable – though not easy – to talk to. She did not talk much about Legolas, but if he was mentioned, a fire grew in her eyes, determined, strong.

It was clear that they had a deep bond.

Fili glanced at Kili as he squirmed to the side. Carefully, Fili balanced him.

"Fili?" Ӧin asked, seeming unsure if he wanted to talk at all. Fili turned in surprise. The other dwarves – Bofur and Ӧin – had been protesting their involvement with the elves silently. They had not spoken.

Fili was sure they were only speaking now that Tauriel was gone. Even though they had agreed to come, they had made it clear that they did not wish to work with the wood elves. Tauriel did not reach out to them, and who could blame her?

She had too much on her mind.

"Yes, Ӧin?" Fili asked. His voice was cold and strong, not what the companionable dwarves were used to.

"We still do not understand why you ride to help the elves," Ӧin said. "Kili has awakened. Though he sleeps again, we know he is healed. The elf is not here. Let us go, return to Lake Town. This is not our battle."

"You suggest we turn on a promise?" Fili snapped. "We agreed to help. I was serious while saying it. Do you wish to dishonor yourself?"

"No, of course not," Bofur said. "But I also do not wish to die."

"So you rather live, dishonored, knowing you gave up, knowing you failed?" Fili said. "Tauriel needs help."

"How do you know she does not lie?" Bofur argued. "Perhaps it is a plot from the elves to capture us and get us killed!"

"And the orcs listen to the will of elves? I saw an orc proclaim that Legolas would fall to shadow and betray his people. Would it stop there? They wish to make a leader – dark, powerful, treacherous. If they do, then none will be safe. Mark my words – if we are to fail, then more will be lost than one elf."

Fili's horse turned the corner and whinnied as it saw Tauriel's. Immediately, the other dwarves fell silent in front of her.

Fili nodded in greeting to Tauriel. She looked at him with wide, scared eyes. Upon seeing her stiff posture and scared exterior, Fili knew something was wrong.

"What has happened, Tauriel?" he asked, frightened.

"The trees led me to where the orcs stopped for rest. They tortured him… His blood covers the stone. The trees shudder with the utmost horror from what they have seen from that night."

Fili swallowed hard. He knew that Tauriel was not naïve. She had understood that Legolas was going to be injured, going to be tortured, but to see its effect? It was shaking, if not shattering.

"We will rescue him, Tauriel," Fili said, trying to comfort her. She spurred her horse without speaking, turning away and riding. Fili followed her, glancing at the other dwarves. He could tell that they still did not trust her or believed in this mission.

As Tauriel rode, she spoke softly so that Fili strained his ears to hear.

"We must save him. There is no question of that."

Fili swallowed. The other dwarves were muttering among themselves. Fili knew it would cause problems in the future. To fight together without trusting one another… It could lead to death for them all or the failure of their mission.

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Legolas stared at the eye, into the eye. The will which he had so arrogantly spoke of nearly left him as flashes of cold terror ran through him.

He had just insulted Sauron himself, calling him human and saying he feared Legolas.

Legolas could not imagine a worse situation.

However, he vowed to himself to stand strong before Sauron. He would not give in; he would be no puppet for the Dark Lord.

Legolas felt the darkness stop pushing him into the floor. He stood, throwing his weight onto shaky legs, trying to hide his sweltering fear.

"Do you fear me now, son of Thranduil?" Sauron breathed, his voice still echoing around the stone. Legolas squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath.

"Perhaps so, Deceiver. You are well spoke of my people. But fear will not change my answer. I will not give in. I am strong and stand tall. You will not defeat me."

"Insolent elf!" Sauron roared. Legolas stumbled back from the blazing anger, feeling it burning his face and torso. He struck the back wall, gasping with pain from his stiff back. "How dare you defy me to my face! You will _shatter, _elf! You say you will always stand strong, but always is a long time, princeling. Longer still for us, immortal! I will never die, and I will rule Middle Earth forever. Should it take a year or a day, you will fight alongside my army. None of your people know of your capture! There will be no rescue!"

Legolas stood still, fear tightening in his chest. Sauron – loathe as he was to admit it – was correct. There would be no rescue. Tauriel was dead, and his people – his father – knew not of his location or his capture. Even the dwarves were dead.

How could he even attempt to not give in? Sauron had nearly defeated the free people of Middle Earth, and he, one elf, was trying to stand alone before him. He had been hasty in his insults. Now, the veil of shadow was lifted, and Legolas could not hope to be saved.

He could defeat a human; he could defeat an orc or goblin. However, trying to fight against the Dark Lord of Mordor – a Maia - would be impossible. How could he defeat a being sent to the world to help build it?

For Sauron had once been a wizard, trying to do good in the world. Then Morgoth had corrupted him and changed him into what he now was – dark, evil, immortal.

How could Legolas hope to stand against such a force?

"Do you yield, elf?" Sauron breathed. His voice echoed from around the room, sounding painfully loud in Legolas' ears.

Legolas looked at him. He had no hope of winning a battle of their wills.

However, he could not give in so easily. Have pity on the stubbornness of elves – he would most likely lose his life and sanity to have hold of his pride.

"Never," he whispered. His voice was small but unmovable. "I am as unchangeable as the sea. Toss a rock, and I will absorb it. You cannot defeat me or destroy my purpose. Throw a rock, I dare you."

"You tempt me, elf! You are no fool. Fighting against me is desperate folly, and yet, you do not give in. What supports you, elf? What keeps you from falling before me?"

Legolas stared into the eye, considering the question. Hope did not drive him – hope for what? He would not be rescued; he would not escape or survive.

Love did not drive him. Tauriel was dead.

Nor did hate bring reason for his actions. Hate was never a reason to fight for it would always fade and die at the worst of moments.

Suddenly, Legolas knew why he fought.

"I fight because I failed before," he spat. "I will not fall again. Wound me, torture me, I will not break! I will survive for my family, of whom I could not rescue."

"Touching, fool," Sauron said. "You failed before. Do you now deserve your free will? You like to believe that they are healed in Valinor? Once an elf drops into shadows, they cannot be saved. Look, elf, at the orcs. Do you know where they came from? The hideous skin, the tortured stare, and lack of will?"

"They come from the north," Legolas said, unsure of why Sauron spoke of the orcs.

"Ah, naïve, elf?" Sauron chuckled. "They were once elves. Morgoth took them into Utumno and twisted them, tortured them until they became a creation of his own. You turn your back on orcs, cruelly shooting them down. Many ages ago, they were your kin! Surprised, son of Thranduil? You do not know everything, and you will fall to shadow."

Legolas stared, horror-struck at Sauron. The cruelty of orcs, the anger, the brutality… were once of elves.

As Legolas stood, silent, thinking, Sauron attacked. He did not move, but the shadows pressed into Legolas, engulfing him, surrounding him.

He let out a cry as what felt like hands – dozens of them – pressed into his body. They held onto him painfully tight, gripping him, digging their fingers in his back. Pulling him down to his knees, he struggled fruitlessly against the crowd of disembodied hands. Legolas could not move, could not see. The hands pulled at his hair and the tatters of his clothing.

Sauron's voice echoed as he called out in Black Speech. Legolas cringed as the harsh sounds hurt his ears. As Sauron's voice grew louder, pain exploded through his body.

There was no source, so complete was the fire of pain and torture. Legolas screamed, feeling his throat contract and twist, causing agony to rocket through him. He could clearly feel each nerve burning through him, panicking him and causing despair.

Shaking violently, he brought a hand up to try to tear at the pain, ripping at his own skin, causing blood to dot his pale body.

And through it all, through pain and fear and suffering, Legolas could hear Sauron's laughter.

He had been too quick to insult a being more powerful than he, and finally, he truly knew what he was facing.

What had he done?

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**Hey, guys! Guess what: my school already has a two hour delay due to the fact the wind chill is negative twenty-three degrees (Celsius) or negative ten degrees (Fahrenheit)! That means I actually have time to write!**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all readers and reviewers!**

**disclaimer: Tolkien owns all!**


	10. The Dream

The Isitari watched the movement below him with growing horror. Sauron was once again powerful. Gandalf had believed him to be vanquished – no, he had hoped and pleaded with all that was good in the world that Sauron had been gone.

Orcs and wargs marched and fought on the stones below him. An army – vaster than he would have ever guessed – walked below, strong, well-trained.

Gandalf had to warn the others. The army would march, and it would conquer. The strong orcs and ruthless leaders would tear the free peoples of Middle Earth apart, causing destruction and turmoil. He had to stop them.

As Gandalf stared below, the orcs suddenly laughed and all eyes went to something Gandalf could not see. He could feel the being's presence – shadows and darkness clung to him, surrounding him in unseeing night. The other orc's took a perverse pleasure in the being.

Gandalf twisted his neck, trying to see what they were staring at. He had felt an explosion of power mere minutes ago. Perhaps this being was whom the blast was directed at. If so, then pity the soul of the tortured creature.

Gandalf caught sight of one of the leaders – Bolg, son of Azog the Defiler. He was pulling something, carrying it roughly. Gandalf watched as the other orcs jeered and laughed at whatever – whoever – Bolg carried.

Then Gandalf saw the being's face. Blonde hair covered it partly, twisted and loose – unlike how elves wore their hair. It was clearly a wood elf; the lithe posture and strong body told him that. Upon closer observance, Gandalf saw the features of King Thranduil in the young elf.

He felt a shiver go through him. The elf was not Thranduil – he could tell that, but Gandalf knew that Thranduil had a son. He had never made the acquaintance with the elf before, but his name – Legolas – was well known.

Gandalf did not know why – or how – the orcs had captured him, but he feared the young prince was in for torture beyond his imagination. The shadows that clung to him covered his elvish glow. Already, he seemed weak and was clearly unconscious.

Gandalf had seen the results of Sauron's torture. It was rarely physical – no, Sauron wished to twist them into his own servants, not wound them. It was the orcs that longed to watch blood spill and innocents scream.

Sauron tortured the mind and the memory. Gandalf knew of the young elf's story – as did Sauron, he was sure. The Prince was going to live in nightmares until he finally broke.

Gandalf fruitlessly struck the bars of his confinement. He had to escape. Middle Earth needed to know the danger hidden in Dol Guldur. The Son of Thranduil, he feared, would be lost soon unless someone were to rescue him.

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_Legolas collapsed, wounded, torn. An arrow protruded from his side, and he grasped it tenderly in one shaking hand. With a cry and a count of three, he pulled at it, willing it to come out easily to lessen the pain and further injury it could cause._

_He let out a loud cry as the arrow's barb stuck in him, and the arrow wrenched to a stop. Looking ahead, suddenly scared – terrified – his cry had alerted an orc to his presence._

_He had defeated some already – with great cost to himself. They had caught him with the arrow just as he prepared to save his family, and he had fallen to the ground. _

_The orcs were preoccupied, not keeping watch. For a moment, Legolas wondered why. He could barely hear jeers and laughter over the blood rushing in his ears due to adrenaline and pain. Legolas stood again, making the hasty decision to snap the arrow shaft off of the head._

_It was a risky decision – an arrow's head would be left, and there was always the danger that it could go deeper, but Legolas had to take the risk._

_His naneth (mother) was trapped. His gwador (brother) was captured. Legolas was sure that they had faced much worse than a single arrow piecing their sides._

_A sudden scream broke the silent air. Legolas felt it clear the pounding in his head. His mother was screeching – pain and terror and suffering torn from her lips, emerging from her soul._

_He had to save them._

_Legolas raced forward, stumbling with pain, pulling out his knives and weapons as he ran. He could hear the tree's despair – they knew the two elves were fading fast. Legolas continued to run forward, nearer and nearer to the sight, growing more and more desperate._

_He had to save them._

_He emerged into a clearing and saw his brother sprawled over the grass. Blood pooled around him, and Legolas could barely hold back a short cry._

_He had to save them._

_His mother was in the hands of the orc leader, twisted and hardly above begging for peace and for the pain to stop._

_He had to save them._

_Racing out from among the trees, angry and disgusted, he let out a loud cry of hate._

_He had to save them._

_An orc fell to his blades, head rolling away from its disgusting body. He grinned at the victory._

_He had to save them._

_Hate drove him, filling him, giving him the strength to fight for his family._

_He had to save them._

_An orc (they were too many) grabbed him from behind._

_He had to save them._

_Snarling, he pulled away, wincing as it tore at his injury._

_He had to save them._

_The leader had never left his victims._

_He had to save them._

_He made sure to leave the lifelong reminder of the torture tattooed on their bodies._

_He had to save them._

_Legolas defeated the last orc and ran to where his family was. The orc leader was forgotten._

_He had to save them._

_Broken eyes greeted him._

_He had to save them._

_There was no response._

_He had to save them._

_They were gone._

_He had failed to save them._

_Legolas let out a sharp cry, tearing away from the bodies, feeling hate pulsing in him even stronger. The orc leader stood before him._

_Legolas cried out with pain and hate. Desperate, he began to fight – out of arrows, wielding only his twin knives. He slashed at the orc, ducking and weaving around the hard blows cast by his enemy. Too soon, he began to feel fatigue settling within him._

_He twisted, a last ploy, for he could not run, could not leave his mother and brother (he had to save them.)_

_the last slash missed, and the force left him stumbling forward, defenseless. The orc leader stabbed with his dirty sword, red with the blood of his mother and brother, and caught Legolas in the shoulder. Legolas, strength leaving him, hate not enough to help him carry on, fell to the ground._

_The orc laughed, triumphant, drunk on its terrible power._

"_You lost, elf," it growled, voice penetrating Legolas' sick delirium. "You failed. I will not kill you! Reap the results of your failure, elf!"_

Legolas awoke with a sharp cry, tearing himself away from his nightmare. Flailing his limbs, he felt a sharp pain go through his wrist. Blinking open his eyes, he saw that he was – appropriately – in a dungeon.

A thin trail of blood – nearly nothing compared to what he had shed at the whipping – dropped down his arm, towards his shoulder.

Forcing his tired eyes and foggy mind to make sense of the situation, he realized he had just dreamed of his greatest failure – something he hadn't done for over a century and that he was trapped, hanging from the wall so that he could just stand upright.

His wrists were supported by thick metal cuffs, attached to walls. Legolas knew that pulling on them would have no effect.

He could hardly see his pale arms in the darkness. That was strange – his elvish glow should have made him literally shine in the darkness. He did not know what was wrong. The darkness seemed to be everywhere – unnerving him. Sauron could be anywhere; Legolas knew he could hide in shadow.

He feared that the orcs were also hidden in the room. Who knew how large it was?

Legolas, suddenly fearful, tried to wrench himself free. As he pulled, he twisted his wrist, and again, a sharp pain went through it. Glancing up, trying to see, he figured that there had to be something sharp on the cuffs. It was cutting his wrist when he moved it.

Curious, he tried the other and felt the same sharp prick. As morbid as it seemed, Legolas knew the ability to cause himself pain such as that would be important in the coming days.

To stay strong, he would need the ability to focus himself. Biting one's tongue usually worked – it was a method he had tried to use before and failed.

The extra pain would allow him to regroup his thoughts and hold his resolve. He shuddered, feeling the thin trail of blood drying on his arm.

He would survive this – somehow.

He had to.

He had to save himself.

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**Hey, guys! Another quick update! I'm proud! By the way – I think I was unclear about my new plan for updating. I will update as often as possible, and it means I promise to not go more than seven days without updating.**

**So I used a new writing style with this. I don't often play with repetition, but I figured why not? Tell me how it went.**

**And tell me if I did Legolas' dream scene any justice at all. I built up to that for the whole fic, and I feel like I didn't write it as well as I should have.**

**Did anyone catch the connection to what drove Legolas' strength in the dream and what he has thought about being driven by that certain emotion? **

**Anyway, please review! **

**thanks to all readers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own! It's Tolkien's!**


	11. The Rescuer

Tauriel rode in silence alongside the dwarves. She was no fool – she knew that they did not trust her. Normally, she would try to resolve their problems with her. However, she feared that she would snap at them due to fear and stress.

She could not convince them even more of treacherous plots.

They were nearing Dol Guldur, and with every step they took, it became more dangerous. Fili had told her that Kili had awakened and spoken to him.

That, at least, was not something she had to worry about.

As they rode closer to Dol Guldur, Tauriel could feel the desperate air, full of despair from victims and the terrible hate of the orcs.

The Earth spoke of the abominations that lived within the ruins of Dol Guldur. They would arrive later, after the noon. Tauriel knew she could not push the horses any faster, but the feeling of desperation only convinced her of Legolas' precarious situation all the more.

Tauriel knew that Legolas would stay strong for as long as possible. He was stubborn – Ai, she knew that well. However, she also knew that the darkness – nameless, cold – was hard to break. Whatever resided in the ruins of Dol Guldur was strong and within the tall walls bred orcs, spiders, and other terrible beings.

The evil was well-hidden, though it was kept secret. Every elf felt the evil, but she knew that the Elven Lords and Ladies did not tell all they knew. She was not sure if that to keep from panic, or if it was because even they did not know what to do.

As Tauriel spoke, a small shifting made her glance at the dwarves. Kili was awaking once more.

"Kili?" Fili asked. He blinked open his eyes, seeming groggy. Tauriel felt a shiver of fear shoot through her. They could be fighting any minute, and Kili was still not fully healed nor awake.

"Tauriel!" Fili suddenly exclaimed. "I forgot to ask upon your return – Kili cannot remember the events that occurred before the poison took great effect. Is that normal?"

"It is," Tauriel said with a nod. "The poison affected him even then. I am sure he was not quite himself in those moments?"

Fili nodded. Kili opened his eyes. Tauriel looked at him. This was the first time she had truly seen him – awake and not despairing nor through the bars of a prison. He was strong – that she could see easily. The poison still held some affect – the bags under his eyes and droopy gaze told her that.

Tauriel stopped her horse. Loathe as she was to pause, she had to give Kili the weapons he would use if they had to fight. There was no time to lose. Silencing the protesting voices within her, she looked towards Kili and pulled the bow and arrows from where they had been strapped to her back along with her own.

"Kili, our mission – I assume Fili has told you of it?" Kili nodded. "This mission is dangerous. We hunt to save my friend and companion, Legolas Greenleaf. Now, normally, I would not do this, but there is no other solution. You are weaponless, so I will grant you his bow and arrows. Be careful with them – they are of his own make, and he is considered one of the most skilled of Middle Earth when fighting with them."

Kili took the bow and arrows carefully, feeling the weight of the bow in his hands. He examined them, raising his head to look at Tauriel.

"Surely he will need these after we rescue him?" he asked. Tauriel turned her head away, unable to meet his searching gaze.

"I fear he will be unable to be of assistance. The Necromancer will have hurt him greatly, if not completely. I only know that he is alive."

Kili nodded, looking embarrassed that he had asked such a question and caused such distress.

"What is this strung with?" he asked, trying to change the topic. "Never have I seen a bow strung with something so fine."

"It is strung with a few of Legolas' hairs. He based the make off the archers of Lothlorien. They often use their hairs to string the bows."

"And it will not break?" Kili asked with wonder.

"It never has, and he has used it for many years. It is of the best quality. Use it well."

"I will," Kili agreed quickly. "Thank you, Tauriel."

Tauriel nodded, not meeting his eyes again. She turned and continued down the lonely path, following the tracks the orcs had left not long ago when they had brought her friend to a place of horror and torture.

A place she willingly travelled to.

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Legolas stood still in the bonds. He stared out into the darkness. As he listened, something made a sound as if footsteps were approaching him. He peered out, but did not see anything.

What was going on?

He knew it was no orc – the steps were too light, and Sauron would surely not make the sound of footsteps.

He strained his ears. A whisper of wind seemed to breathe words too quiet to understand. He listened deeper, trying to hear the spoken words.

_(late… save…)_

Legolas picked up only a few words, but still, he tilted his head in surprise. What was being spoken of? Was it someone there to rescue him?

He longed to cry out that he was trapped, that it was not too late, but he did not dare.

(free him…)

The whisper was a bit louder. Eagerly, he listened. They were going to save him! He was safe!

(listen quickly…)

Legolas found himself nodded to the voice's command. Of course he would listen! He wished to be saved.

The wind was silent for a moment, but once again, he heard the footsteps, just out of sight, buried in shadow. Straining his eyes, he fancied that for a moment – the sheerest second – he saw a being's movement in the dark. Again, he longed to call out but knew that he would ruin his chances to be rescued.

Instead he whispered,

"What shall I do?"

To any hostile ears listening, it was a question that reflected upon his situation.

The wind heard it, loud and clear.

_(listen to me…)_

"I will," he breathed, promising the being in shadows.

_(do not despair…)_

Legolas relaxed a bit in his uncomfortable position. His savior would show themselves soon. He would escape soon!

_(stay strong…)_

"Forever," Legolas promised, barely letting the words escape his clenched teeth and closed lips.

_(do not give in…)_

Legolas nodded, fascinated by the strength of the speaker.

_(i am coming…)_

Legolas let out a deep breath, closing his eyes in near bliss. He would be rescued.

Legolas had feared.

Ai, he had feared so much. Sauron was overwhelming and controlling. Just standing before the Dark Lord of Mordor, he had felt his mind being eaten away and attacked. Legolas had feared not only the collapse of his will, but also the collapse of his mind.

Perhaps he had feared for not: Sauron had wanted a leader, not another broken, useless elf. However, he had feared being twisted into a dark being, into something he was not.

Legolas feared the future. Now, he would not have to.

For a moment, he wondered who it was that saved him. He had not been aware that someone knew of his capture.

However, one of the cowardly humans of Lake Town could have witnessed it and gossiped of it. That way, it would have eventually spread to Mirkwood through trade and the humans' need of small talk.

His father would have certainly sent elves to rescue him. they were, perhaps, near him, looking and searching for him.

Legolas smiled, a pathetic, sad look on his drawn, worn face, but it spoke of hope and eagerness.

_(stay still, i am coming)_

Legolas froze, not wishing to warn the evils of Dol Guldur of the other elves deep within their borders. Ai, he knew how it was a mistake to increase Sauron's wrath. He would not make these elves suffer for trying to save him.

The footsteps sounded again, and he reached out towards the sound, once more glimpsing the being that searched around and whispered with the wind.

_(be still!)_

As if he was burned, Legolas dropped his arm, standing silent once more in the bonds, trapped with his wrists mounted above his head.

Legolas felt himself trembling with excitement, despite his will to stop. He could not wait to escape into safety – into sanity, into sunlight – again. Legolas grinned like a fool, trying to stop himself but failing due to his absolute delight.

_(listen to me, penneth)_

Legolas tilted his head to the side. He had not been called that for many years. The last one to call him that name had been his mother before the tragedy had occurred.

_(do not question)_

He swallowed hard, pushing back his surprise at hearing that nickname again.

_(wait for me)_

He knew his saviors were coming. He could hear

(_wait for me)_

the steps again, and they were louder. He strained his eyes

_(be calm)_

and could make out the figure's shape in the shadows. He could hardly

_(silent!)_

hold back a cry of pure happiness. He would be

_(freed)_

free, and he would be safe. He had hardly imagined this day could come.

_(free me, Legolas)_

Suddenly, the wind's voice was much harsher, and the figure he had seen grew bent and broken before his eyes. His mouth dropped open,

_(do you see me, Legolas?)_

and he cringed away from the being – from his rescuer.

_(do not judge, prince)_

He shook his head, trying to calm his thoughts. The appearance was not real. It was one of Sauron's tricks.

_(listen…)_

He would not

_(to me…)_

listen; he would not give in. The rescuer was here. Ignoring the bent posture and fear that flooded him, he watched the figure in silence.

_(my son)_

He let out a sharp cry as his mother stepped out of the shadows, broken and with anger on her once-fair features.

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**Hey, guys! another quick update! What do you think? Do you feel like it was rushed? I did a bit… And for the first time since starting this fic, I rewrote a section after reading it over! :0 The original will be used later in the fic… **

**What will happen next?**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and readers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or the Hobbit!**


	12. The Vision

Tauriel neared Dol Guldur. Her mind was ablaze with the terror of failure, but her heart shone with the wonder of success.

She would save Legolas.

She rode to the gates of Dol Guldur only to freeze in shock. They were ruins. There was no sign of life anywhere around her. She glanced around, knowing the dwarves were doing the same.

What could she do now?

Where were the Necromancer and his army?

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Legolas shivered in the bonds. He had suffered before the beings he had long respected for quite some time; at least, it felt so. He feared that less time had truly passed.

His mother had appeared before him, berating him over failing, over _killing_ her. She had stared, wide-eyed and unseeing at him. Her blue eyes were glazed, and the pupils dilated with insanity. Legolas had seen how her body bent under torture – killed, broken.

His brother had appeared, angry and betrayed that Legolas had caused his own death. Legolas had listened to his brother's recount of the torture, and how his thoughts had wondered to when Legolas – the strong warrior – would arrive. His brother had claimed that he had failed because he wanted to become the next king. Legolas had purposefully killed them, or at least he believed so…

His father had appeared, angry that he was too weak to save his family. King Thranduil had said how unworthy he was as a prince. He was a failure…

Legolas stared into the darkness, watching it ripple and swim around him, watching it surround and eat at his soul. It was dangerous, but he felt no great fear. That, perhaps, was the way of a shadow – the silent killer.

Legolas felt agony from his visitors, but he knew that it was only tricks. However, he feared that he had not the strength to continue on. It was great that he was able to set his eyes upon his family again.

They wore angry, betrayed looks, but his eyes celebrated and feasted on their return. He was almost longing that they returned.

After all, he could survive their words, and he longed to stare at them again. Yes, he could see the blood dotting and clumping on their skin, dirt and grime covering their emaciated forms, but it was still beautiful.

He stared at them as a blind man would stare if suddenly granted the gift of sight.

Legolas needed to look at them, and even if he stared only at a apparition, only at a deception, it was better than nothing.

He wished to look upon them again…

Sauron had promised their return if he would only join. Perhaps…

Legolas shook his head roughly, twisting his wrist angrily and harshly. The pain strengthened him, and he took a deep breath.

He could not waste thoughts on impossible feats. His mother and brother were gone; they would not return.

It was better to lay the memories to rest rather than stir them up again. He should never look at them again. They were gone; he would see them again, whole, as they were before, when he travelled West. There would be many years before that, but he could wait.

What else was there to do?

Suddenly, he was thrown into a vision.

_He stood alone, on top of a hill. The forests of Mirkwood – nay, Greenwood – stretched out before him. He could not hear the trees whisper of the evils they endured or the darkness they stood against. All was calm, and all was peaceful._

_Legolas had never seen his forest as perfect as it were now. He could stare among the summer forest for years to come. The prince had only his memories as an elfling of the forest before it was tarnished and poisoned. _

_Who had caused the change?_

_Had the Necromancer been defeated?_

_No, he hadn't. _

_The Necromancer had saved his forest. He had called back the darkness and shadow and returned the woods to how they had been. Legolas stepped down the hill, enjoying the feel of the moss and grass under his feet._

_The ground was too barren and unhealthy in Mirkwood – that was a clear sign of the horrors it faced. It was great to see his forest how it was meant to be – strong and powerful but fragile and beautiful._

_He entered the forest, seeing the tall trees with their green gold leaves. They towered high above him, and as he watched, a doe and two young fawns wandered before him, not sensing his light steps and breaths. He watched them in silence, brushing his fingers against the trunk of a tree. _

_The bark was rough and held strong, not peeling off as he pulled his fingers across it. A light breeze whispered past him, carrying his scent to the deer. They ran, powerful legs springing over thick roots and low plants. _

_Legolas looked at the ground and saw clumps of wildflowers and berry bushes poking out of the fertile soil. There were blooms around him, purple, pink, yellow, blue…_

_Looking around in wonder, he saw clumps of Altheas around him – a plant used to healing but hard to find in his present day._

_What had changed? Watching his surroundings, he saw a group of wood elves emerge from the depths of the forest._

_They saw him and bowed in greeting!_

"_Hir nin," one said as he bowed his head. (My King)_

_Legolas started as he heard himself called his father's title._

…_He was the king of the prosperous woods?_

_What had happened to his father?_

_Nodding hastily back at the other elves – he recognized them as some of the guard, he turned and walked out of the forest's borders._

_He had to see what had happened to the evil that had poisoned Mirkwood's forests. Where were the spiders, the orcs?_

_Deer were hard to find – it was amazing that he had seen the fawns especially._

_What had happened to the Necromancer?_

_Had he been defeated? Was he gone?_

_Legolas walked to the familiar ruins of Dol Guldur. To his shock, the community thrived. It was not hidden – the orcs and wargs were in plain sight._

_What was stopping its evil from reaching out?_

_Legolas turned and began to race back into Mirkwood. He had to find out what was going on. _

_He ran past the green forest and healthy animals. Birds flew by – he even spotted pheasants and quail as he ran. In his euphoria, he did not grow tired._

_Soon, he reached the palace. It stood with glory – strong and secure. Legolas saw that it was larger than it had been. Entering it, he went to his normal rooms before he realized that he would now reside in his father's room._

"_My King!" someone called. Legolas turned. Needing to have answers, he decided to question to elf as to what was going on._

"_Yes?" he called back. _

"_The Dark Lord of Mordor brings a message for you, King Legolas."_

_Legolas took the message, resisting the urge to question why Sauron was sending him messages._

_He stared at the paper with horror._

_**See what an agreement would bring? Give in, young prince. We will rule together, as allies, and your forest will grow strong once more.**_

Legolas screamed, breaking out of the dream and finding himself in his cell once again. Shuddering. he tried to calm down, taking deep breaths.

He was trembling violently. How could he survive what Sauron had in store for him!

Ai! It was only the beginning, and already, he grew weak. Sauron knew how to target him! Sauron would not fail.

Perhaps he should give in… retain his sanity… it would be –

No, that was unthinkable.

Legolas twisted his wrist in the bonds in order to focus his thoughts. It worked, the sharp sting allowed him to collect himself.

Then a thought occurred to him. He knew that Sauron had not planted it in him because Sauron would know of too much in order to plant such an idea.

If he could not keep his sanity in the face of torture, then why should he keep his life?

If he were dead, then Sauron could not use him!

It would be better…

If he were dead, then Mirkwood was safe.

His mother had blamed him; his brother had said he failed.

Legolas would join them! Hadn't he been thinking of (was that only a little ago?) seeing them again?

It was worth it, and he had an easy way to do it…

He tested his theory, twisting his wrist and feeling the small amount of blood drip down his arm. If he tried hard enough and long enough, then he could cause himself severe damage, if not death.

Legolas could not survive the torture.

And he would see his mother, his brother… Tauriel.

Sure, he would have to go through Manwë's Halls first. He had eternity to make it to Valinor, and in the end, he would.

Shadow would not consume him!

He was too strong!

If he could not survive, then he would not be defeated!

With a sharp cry, Legolas wrenched his wrist. The sharp cuff dug into it, causing blood to spill from the wound. Legolas felt stronger as he controlled his own pain.

He wrenched it again, feeling more blood, thicker blood coming from the wound.

Perhaps his life was for nothing. Perhaps it was pointless death of an immortal.

He had no savior coming. There was only deception in store for him.

He pulled his wrist again. Then the other. Now, he could feel blood sinking into his tattered tunic.

Legolas wondered if his father would ever receive his body or if it would be left there to rot.

It did not matter. As long as his body was not used for evil, then it did not matter!

He was strong; he would not be defeated.

The sharp metal cut into his skin.

Blood, precious, live-giving, rolled down his arms. A single drop fell and splashed to the cell's ground.

More blood from both wrists. He was losing a lot – more than he had from the whipping.

Legolas did not know when he would reach the point that would kill him, but he could not risk falling unconscious before that point.

He was at the point of no return.

More blood spilled down his arms, falling to the floor. Now, a small puddle was gathered on the stones.

Legolas could feel his eyes growing heavy.

With one final twist, Legolas felt his strength leaving him, and he collapsed in the bonds with a faint cry. His eyes fell shut, and the blood continued to fall around him, dripping off of him.

Yes, he had failed, but he had also won.

He had achieved his goal – his body and tortured mind would never be used for evil…

And the blood, his lifeline, precious and thick, fell around him, dripping down in a small storm as he hung, unconscious but with a small smile gracing his pale, drawn features.

Let it be said that Legolas Greenleaf was never defeated.

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**Hey, guys!**

**I hope you like this chapter! Don't kill me!**

**By the way: Has anyone listened to Ed Sheeran's song for the Desolation of Smaug – "I See Fire?"**

**Let me just say: OH MY GOD!**

**It played during the credits, and it is an amazing song!**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or the Hobbit!**


	13. The Scream

Tauriel turned to the dwarves, agony in her eyes. They had come so far and magic was stopping them. Only magic. For she knew that Legolas was being held within the ruins that weren't ruins, and she knew she had to find a way to break the enchantment.

Fili stared back at her, knowing the pain she was in. He had gotten to know her over their travels, and she now knew him. Fili held compassion out to her and, more importantly, he held determination. After all, he would help her to the end. He had promised her.

Kili was also determined and compassionate, but it was at a lesser level. He cared no less about Tauriel than Fili did, but he did not know her as well.

Yes, they had had a few conversations, but she and Fili truly knew each other. In a short time, they had bonded, each needing companions when crossing the lonely wilderness.

The dwarves silence had hurt Fili – loathe as he was to show it and so had Kili's state. He had watched his brother, waiting for him to awaken…

And Tauriel was lost as she travelled the wilderness with only one purpose in her mind. She had to save him. Fili had taken her mind off Legolas for short moments, helping her keep her own sanity.

Tauriel looked at the other dwarves. They still looked at her with cold fire in their gazes. She would find no patience there if she could not break the spell.

It was now or never, for time was no a virtue. They were at a place where they had to expect attack and act hostile. It was unlikely that they could pull off a rescue at the Necromancer's stronghold.

But she had to try.

And if all lives were lost, then, yes, she had failed.

But if Legolas' life was lost, then the failure was greater because she could not go on with the guilt of causing his torture and death (she hoped it would be death.)

She feared that the Grey Havens would be the only thing that Legolas longed for in the end, and if that wasn't terrifying, then she didn't know what was.

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Legolas blinked open his eyes. He was still hanging from wall – had his death forced him into shadow? Was he dead?

Shaking, trembling with defeat and pain, he tried to twist his wrist. He felt the bond sliding over it smoothly, but he felt no bite from the sharp metal.

Forcing his weak head to tilt upward, looking at his wrists.

Both held thick, dirty bandages, wrapped but crooked and blood-stained.

Someone had stopped the bleeding.

He was alive.

He had failed.

He was defeated.

Legolas cringed in the bonds that held him to the wall. Panic suddenly set in, and he clenched his eyes shut, shaking and trembling, moving his head side to side silently.

His bloody hair – when had that gotten bloody? His wrists, perhaps? – flicked up into his eyes. A clumping bit – dirty, disgusting – hit his cheek, and the mostly dried blood stuck to it.

Breathing heavy and feeling himself go lightheaded, he tried in vain to twist his wrist again.

He longed for the bite of the cuff to focus his mind – not to kill himself but only to collect his thoughts and help him stay sane.

He heard footsteps and looked up slowly, unsure if what he was going to see was real or not.

His mother stood before him. Her stare was empty, her blonde hair soaked in blood. He shivered and trembling as she stepped closer to him – awake and dead, soulless and screaming without sound. A piece of her hair – strands clumped without care and with blood – swung forward and touched his shoulder.

Like his own had, they stuck to him.

He tried to pull away further, but he could not. The hairs glittered unnaturally in the darkness. Unreal.

No, surreal – because his mother did stand before him. She touched his shoulder, his cheek, caressing his face and body. Unable to stop himself, he leaned into the embrace, needing comfort and family while he hung there, dirty, afraid, panicked, defeated.

"You failed me, Ion nin," she whispered. (my son) Her touched suddenly seemed colder and the darkness stronger. Legolas tried to pull away but was unable to. He seemed to shrink into himself, looking suddenly young and weak. His mother seemed to notice it, and her touch became softer.

Legolas trembling as she brushed her thin, bloody hands over his face, leaving long trails of blood – brownish, partly dried. His head fell as he lost the strength to hold it up, and he stared into the floor.

She touched his shoulder as a comfort – as a mother would.

Legolas was silent, shaking as a leaf does in the wind, blown by the stronger elements and at their mercy. He agreed with her – she was his mother! She knew what was truth, and what was fiction.

"You could have saved me. You could have saved me! Why did you fail!"

Legolas could not bring himself to answer, but his mother had other ideas, pulling herself forward and grabbing his shoulder with one hand. With the other, she grabbed his chin and pulled his eyes up to meet her empty gaze. Her hands were freezing cold, and he shuddered again.

"Why did you fail?" she repeated wildly, yelling as if madness had claimed her, spittle flying from her lips. Legolas shook before her.

"I do not – forgive me, naneth!" he said. "I failed you; I failed you!"

"You did, Little Greenleaf," she spat. "I could be with you now. Instead – instead, I am destined to live forever in the shadows! Do you see me, Legolas? Look into my eyes!"

He could not turn away for her hand was still forcing his chin to stare into her hypnotizing gaze. Legolas did not try to turn away.

As angry – furious – as she was, this was the first time he had seen his mother in centuries. It was a gift to hear her voice and feel her touch again. As cold as it was, it was comfort and a light in the dark – though her elven glow had long since vanished with her soul and spirit.

"You will survive always with what you have done, and what you did not do! How do you draw breath, Ion nin? How do you speak or laugh? Do you think you did you best? Do you think you _tried_?"

Then she was gone, and Legolas' chin fell onto his chest, hair cascading over his shoulders. He had not the will to raise it again. His time had been full of his mother and brother visiting him. The small reprieve was a blessing but also torture.

To see them again! Ai, it was a great mercy. And to hear what they thought… He had long wondered, and they confirmed his thoughts. The others were wrong…

"_You tried your best…"_

"_Nothing more could be done…"_

Legolas let out a sharp bark of wild laughter. They were wrong! They were wrong!

The others had spoken of how it was not his fault! They said it only so that he would live in deception.

He knew the truth now, though. They had bided their time, waiting for his grief and guilt to eventually consume him, to break him. Now, he had beaten them.

He knew the truth! His mother and brother had told him it was so.

Was he not lucky to see them again? They were pained and dead – that he could see, but he was worse; he was worse!

Their games had nearly killed him; he had changed. Never again! Never again.

Once more, he was strong. He was untouchable. His mother had said it was so.

Their skin was cold as they touched him, but his was colder.

His guilt had affected him, killing him inside and destroying who he was. They had almost broken him, but he was strong! He was strong!

Suddenly, his brother appeared before him, in all of his dead glory. His hair was in loose braids that proclaimed that he – not Legolas, never Legolas – was the true prince, the eldest son.

His face was bruised and dark – thus was the way of shadows – and his ears were bloodshot. He was so destroyed, but he was still so strong.

The elf Legolas knew was funny and kind, but now! Now! He was stony and powerful, changing lives with the flick of his wrist.

And better yet, he said he understood! Legolas' guilt was building; he spoke of that. He spoke of how Legolas had been corrupted and hurt.

The tall elf, bent and broken, had said that Legolas had purposefully let them die. He wanted to be prince, not second best! And his brother forgave him!

His brother had once been proud to stand alongside his father. It was hard to connect the still strong but bent and torn elf to the leader he had been. But it was him, of that there was no doubt.

With all of his dark glory, Legolas felt, once more, that he was an elfling that wished to follow exactly as his brother had. He would listen to his family, to his soul, to his self!

With a sudden cry, Legolas twisted his wrist roughly. There was no pain, no blood, but it snapped him into reality – or, at least, out of the world in which he had visited. However, he still lingered on the border, a foot in each door, pulled each way to one end.

Destruction and defeat. The imagined blood

_(rolling down his arm, thick and beautiful and crimson in color)_

helped him to regain his senses. Legolas could not go on for much longer.

_(he was growing stronger)_

He could not

_(listen to his brother)_

retain his sanity for much longer. He was falling

_(into peace)_

into madness. Sauron was playing a game

_(he was an elfling following his brother again)_

with him, trying to break him. And it was

_(listen to me, Ion nin!)_

working. He did not know how much longer he could survive

_(until his guilt swallowed him)_

and stay sane. Sauron was winning -

_(you must defeat the others, Little Greenleaf)_

Legolas had known he would. There was no chance of escape.

Suddenly, his father appeared before him.

"You sit so still, Legolas, so weak. Stand, boy! Be strong! They are dead; it is your fault. Live in their place, be strong for them! Because of you, they will never again stand! You cannot speak to them again, Legolas! So stand tall in their place! Replace them; show your strength!"

Legolas let out a loud, inhuman screech as he was brought, once again, into near-madness.

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Gandalf cringed as the loud shriek emerged from the room. He did not know what they did to the elf, but he knew the wretched being could not last much longer. If help did not come, then he would be lost. Beware of the darkness, he thought wildly, for in the shadows a monster lays hidden, and once it captures, it does not release.

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Tauriel heard the unearthly shriek. At once, she spun towards the sound, shock and a slight bit of fear in her gaze.

"What was that?" Bofur muttered behind her. "It sounded like a dying animal."

"No," Tauriel said, voice hoarse and dead and strong. "That was no animal. That was one of the Necromancer's prisoners."

And as she said that, the illusion melted. The ruins faded into a strong structure, looking powerful and in-use. She could see movement from within the walls. Orcs and wargs were within, ready to kill any advancers and preparing to march out of Dol Guldur.

A battle was starting, and Tauriel was not prepared.

A battle was starting, and their small company was not prepared.

A battle was starting, and Middle Earth was not prepared.

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**Hey, guys! I hope you like the chapter – Legolas is slightly insane in this one…**

**He's getting to his breaking point.**

**I'm still not sure how Gandalf will be rescued or if Thrain will make an appearance in this…**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all readers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own! It's all Tolkien's!**


	14. The Beginning

Legolas turned to the shadows. He could sense a slight change, a difference in the blackness. It was more menacing, its power more controlling and absolute. An intoxicating sense of power settled over him, and he writhed in the bonds. He was strong, and he could be strong again.

The power was flooding over him, calling him. It could be his, all of it. He trembled as it swirled around him, tempting him, deceiving him.

It could all be his.

He only had to accept it, to allow it into his body, into his soul. It would heal him and darken his resolve. He would be as cold as the stone but strong and unmovable as the sea.

He would be as durable as the rivers – never stopping, drowning all those that dare to enter the watery abyss. He would be as tall as the trees, all others bowing before his immense height, blocking out sunlight and casting shadows. He would be as strong as the Earth, immortal, never failing, never dying.

All others would bow at his feet. He would stand, fire ablaze in his eyes, for a fire burned within him that would never die.

Legolas would fear no one, for all the world would fear him. He would command terrible armies of all the creatures lurking in shadow.

And the other races – arrogant, foolish – would fall under his feet.

He had to take a step into shadow.

Legolas dropped his head, exhaustion weakening his body. His spirit blazed on, unstoppable.

Soon, he would be unstoppable. The darkness that had weakened him would strengthen him. He would see blood flowing from others, see them writhing and weakening.

To break a soul… So forbidden, so twisted but so beautiful. To see the slow drop from arrogance to weakness, from defiance to submission.

All would fear him, all would despair.

He would stand among his enemies, safe, as they lie dead at his feet, never reaching his own pedestal.

Finding strength in the shadows, he raised his head, accepting their help and grace. At once, the darkness entered him, twisting and changing within him, becoming power and making his body quiver with energy.

The cuffs holding him to the wall collapsed, and his arms were released. The tortured muscles mended as his arms dropped to his sides. He looked into the darkness, unafraid, thrumming with power.

Legolas took a step forward, feeling the darkness flooding into him. His eyes looked ahead, wary and attentive.

He chuckled, thinking of the others he had known.

They had raised him and changed him, trying to break him. They had laughed and yelled. They had fought and comforted.

They would die.

Legolas knew he would travel – unchallenged – into his old home, into his rooms. No doubt his father would attend to him, asking about him.

The fool would die.

Legolas had listened to his talks of being wary and to not care of anything outside his own kingdom.

Thranduil had been wrong.

Yes, caring about his own kingdom was important, but had he raised his eyes higher, then he would have seen the whole world as his kingdom and expanded their borders.

The spiders were coming?

Then kill them and claim their territory.

Elves would be lost, lives would be lost, in the battles.

But what were lives compared to power?

Legolas would destroy Mirkwood – but not all of it. It would become his stronghold, his strength. The spiders would flee, and the elves would be powerless to prevent him.

It would be easy to surprise them – they trusted Legolas. One would think that immortal beings would learn more wariness then that.

Demoralize the enemy from within by surprise, terror, sabotage, assassination. This is the war of the future.*

Legolas would train the young elves to follow after his ways. They would listen to him; they always had valued his opinions. All of the elves had, but he feared the older ones were too set in their ways for change to occur.

He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future.*

He would hate to kill immortal lives that held so much knowledge, but truth was truth, and they would not listen to reason.

It is always more difficult to fight against faith than against knowledge.*

Conquering the elves would be a great feat – he understood that. The immortal beings commanded – loathe as he was to admit it – great respect.

And he could fight only for something that he loved, love only what he respected, and respect only what he at least know.**

Most important was the fact that they did not forget.

However, with that was their folly. They forgave too much in too little time.

And they were peaceful creatures.

The very first essential for success is a perpetually constant and regular employment of violence.*

Conquering men would take little time after the elves were controlled. Men had always laid before elves on their knees. Not only were their lives only a single heartbeat of any elves', they also were weaker and too quick to give in.

Internal struggles tore at them, and that would make them fall easier and harder.

What luck for rulers that men do not think.*

Legolas would then have conquered most of Middle Earth. Who would defeat him then? The dwarves?

No, it was ludicrous to believe that dwarves – twelve of which had thought they could defeat a dragon alone! – were smart enough to defeat anything, let alone the rest of Middle Earth.

And who else could stand against him? The Half-lings?

That was even less believable than the dwarves! Legolas chuckled as he walked – unafraid – into the darkness.  
The shadows led him to steep stone stairs. He could see the glint of dried blood on them – mayhap his own from when he knew not of true power and believed in the _good_ of living beings.

He climbed up the steps, feeling no twinge of pain. His back was healing – the shadows pulling and mending skin, but he felt nothing.

Legolas was too intoxicated on his new power to feel much of anything.

He could raise a hand, he knew, and collapse the walls of his prison – nay, his home.

He could reach out, and those defying him would fall to the ground in agony.

He could take everything, for everything was his, and he was strong.

The shadows would plea to his bidding; they would come forth to his aid.

Let it be known that Legolas Greenleaf would never be defeated.

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Tauriel turned to the dwarves.

"I fear the cry was my companion's," she said, urgency speeding her words. "I fear we are too late. We must have haste."

"Of course," Kili agreed. "We will rescue him, Tauriel."

"How do you know, Kili?" she asked, sadness, overwhelming sadness, flooding through her.

"I know because I hold his weapons in my hands that he is a warrior. Warriors do not betray their people nor their friends. He will not leave you, Tauriel."

"I fear the enemy has hold upon him. Too late was the dawn from a night centuries ago. He has not the strength for this."

"Do not dishonor him!" Kili exclaimed. "He is strong; I saw him fight. To believe otherwise is great folly."

"I – ," Tauriel began, only to pause and rethink her words. "You are correct, master dwarf. I thank you. My fear had gotten the better of me."

"As has it every one of us. Do not belittle yourself for a moment of weakness, my lady."

Tauriel nodded, then motioned them to dismount.

"I dare not take the horses further than this. They will be spotted. Tie them to trees here; we will return for them."

The other dwarves muttered agreement, dismounting and tying the reins efficiently.

Tauriel motioned them forward.

The walk to Dol Guldur was frighteningly bare. No trees nor structures would hide their assault.

"My lady?" Fili protested. "Is this the only entrance?"

"Yes," Tauriel answered, her voice short with anticipation and fear.

"Then run swiftly, my companions, and ready your weapons, for I see no way the enemy would not notice our presence." Fili turned to the other dwarves as he said that.

"T'is suicide," one protested, his voice high with fear and dismay.

"As is fighting a dragon," Kili said. "But you had the courage for that task. We prepare to run for Dol Guldur. My lady, at your word."

Tauriel looked forward, seeing the bare stone. In her mind, she could see the blood of the Necromancer's victims dotting the gray expanse. Ai, Legolas' blood was among them.

There was but a second they could afford to lose.

"On my word," Tauriel said, her voice becoming hoarse. "Go!"

She leapt out, hearing the dwarves do the same. Bow in hand, she rode forward, eyes intent on the enemy. She planned to duck behind one of the arches – should they make it that far without being noticed.

Tauriel was hardly a quarter of the way there. The dwarves were lagging behind her. For all their courage and all their might, dwarves could not run as quickly as some for the sheer reason of shorter legs.

Tauriel reached the few stone steps with ease, climbing them quickly. Behind her, she heard the dwarves leaping up them. They were nearly there, and no alarm had been sounded.

It seemed almost unbelievable.

They reached the back of the archway, and Tauriel ducked behind it. The dwarves – about ten paces behind her – were soon there as well.

Tauriel looked at them with relief. They seemed surprised and knew to stay silent.

"Come," Tauriel breathed. It was time to continue on to rescue Legolas.

"My lady, I fear this is a trap," Kili whispered.

"It is, most likely," Tauriel agreed. "But I must go on."

"Then we will as well," Kili promised.

Tauriel swallowed, looking at the stout-hearted dwarves.

She feared she was leading them all to their deaths.

And for the first time, she wondered if Legolas' life was worth the deaths.

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**Hey, guys! How do you like the story? I liked Legolas' thoughts, but Tauriel's section didn't seem the best to me. **

**The * in Legolas' section say that the preceding lines are quotes from Adolf Hitler. The ** is a quote I altered from first person to third and from present to past tense.**

**So, I'm finding that the more I write LotR and The Hobbit character's dialogue, the more I begin to sound like that as well. My friends laughed at me today for starting a quip with "Far be it for me to…"**

**I have also seemingly forgotten what contractions are but no worries! There are worse problems than talking as an elf would.**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all readers.**

**Dislclaimer: I don't own LotR or the Hobbit.**


	15. The Black Speech

Legolas walked through the room. He could not see through the black, but he could feel Sauron's presence before him. At once, the shadows deserted him, clinging to the stronger force, treacherous and betraying.

Legolas dropped, graceful, poised, looking every bit of the prince he was meant to be, to one knee, bowing before his master.

"My Lord," he said, voice strong and emotionless. There was a laugh. Legolas bowed his head, not seeing the figure laughing as he was veiled in the shadows.

The laugh surrounded him, taunting him, sick with power. He bathed in the sound and its glory, feeling the almighty, unstoppable strength and power.

"How you have fallen, Legolas Thranduilion. You swore defiance and now bow at my feet."

"My Lord," Legolas said, not offended at the words, not caring what he had previously sworn. "I was weak and naïve. Forgive me."

The darkness reached forward, forming something that nearly appeared to be a hand. It reached into Legolas' hair, stroking it and brushing its fingers through it. Legolas leaned into the slight touch, shuddering at the raw power before him.

"You will serve me well, Legolas of Mirkwood, and you will serve me soon. A… rescuer draws near. She will take you to Mirkwood if you allow her to."

"And I will then be in position to destroy it," Legolas said.

"Of course, my servant. Destroy it and its king. You are to rule, Legolas. And you are to conquer."

"Yes, my Lord."

"The she-elf expects you to be injured and broken. She believes you to be as weak as your predecessors. Do not fail me, and do not alert her."

"Of course, my Lord," Legolas said.

"Arrogant!" the Dark Lord spat. "You will fail if you do not attempt to conceal yourself! Your grievances have been healed – dare I release you in this state?"

"Whatever you wish of me, Master, I will do," Legolas promised.

"And you could fail, elf! For you are weak." The Dark Lord spat the words, but then a thoughtful silence that Legolas did not dare interrupt followed. After a few moments, the Deceiver beckoned Legolas to stand.

"The shadows shall take what has been returned. I fear without pain you cannot complete a goal."

Legolas stood, still and stoic. He held no fear for himself – only fear of his great master. It made him tremble and shake, but he stood his ground, silent, strong.

The Necromancer began to chant, his words blurring into a mix of Black Speech.

To Legolas' amazement, the words were understandable to his ears. The pain of hearing Black Speech's harsh sounds were gone.

"Ghâsh agh burg krimp agh durb!" Sauron's voice echoed through the thin walls.*

Legolas could hear the words clearly.

"Fire and dark bind and rule…"

Legolas fell to the ground at Sauron's feet. He let out a piercing scream, pain devouring him from every part of his body, attacking him, killing him.

Legolas curled on the ground, shaking and trembling before the Dark Lord. He felt only the pain, not hearing the chants or his own screams.

And so intent on the pain was he that he did not hear Tauriel's voice exclaiming with shock and surprise and pain.

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Tauriel heard a loud shriek of pain and terror. She knew – immediately – that it was Legolas, and, unable to stop herself, she let out a cry of astonishment.

Haste and fear lending speed to her, Tauriel stepped forward, towards the scream.

Kili grabbed her hand as she prepared to run off.

"It is a trap!" he exclaimed. "Do not fall to the Necromancer's treachery."

"You ask of me to protect myself when my companion falls before the Necromancer."

"We are not strong enough to defeat him!" Kili said, desperate to keep Tauriel from racing to her companion's defense and her own death.

"Yet I must try to save him! I do not ask you to follow."

Tauriel tore her hand out of Kili's and stepped forward. She entered the Necromancer's domain, feeling the oppressive darkness fighting against her. It wanted her to fall, to die, to collapse.

She would never do that.

Tauriel ran through the rooms somewhat blindly. She knew not what she searched for – other than Legolas, of course. But where he was or who was hurting him?

She did not know.

Tauriel could only follow the terrible screams.

She could hear them echo around her, reverberating in her ears.

They spoke, through screams and screeches, of terror and pain. He was afraid; she knew that, and it terrified her because she had faced many battles with him and had never seen him show his fear.

She would never forget the sound of his screams.

Tauriel raced forward, finally coming to a doorway of stone that seemed to reverberate from the screams.

Trembling and unable to hear anything but the cries of soul-ripping pain, she entered the threshold.

Throwing herself through the doorway, she saw the shadows swirling around the room, insatiable and cold. They pressed against her, making her shudder.

Legolas' screams had stopped. There was only silence.

"Ai!" she exclaimed, shocked at the sudden explosion of silence. The shadows seemed to retreat, baking from the room and fleeing out of the room.

As they recoiled, the darkness released Legolas, and Tauriel watched as he fell, collapsing, boneless, to the stone ground.

He was sprawled on the stones, unmoving, not seeming to breathe, not seeming to live. Tauriel found her legs refused to support her in front of Legolas' lifeless body. The only motion from him was the steady stream of blood pooling out under him, already thick around him, soaking into the tips of his hair.

Tauriel stumbled forward, falling to her knees in front of him.

"Legolas," she whispered, tears lodging a stone in her throat. She touched him gently, barely brushing his torn clothes with her shaking hand.

Then she screamed.

He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead!

After all they had done to save him! After all they had tried!

She and the dwarves had broke into Dol Guldur… only to find him dead…

Seeing the blood pooling around his body, Tauriel flinched backwards, wrenching her hand away from it before the blood touched it. Tauriel looked at Legolas' body, seeing the effects of the torture.

Cuts dotted his body, deep and flaming red. They looked rough –a sharp blade could not have caused them. Rather, they appeared as though they had been scratched open.

Tauriel caught sight of his bandaged wrists. Convincing herself to flip the elf over onto his back, she reached out and carefully turned him over.

His face was even worse – closed eyes, muscles taunt with pain. However – Tauriel did know that if Legolas still responded to the pain, then he had not been broken before his death.

That made her feel better – a little. It made a single candle light in the hundred leagues of darkness that surrounded her soul.

She looked at his wrists, peeling the bandage back. Thick, scabbing gashes covered the whole wrist. She knew that they had been bandaged to prevent Legolas from dying too soon.

T'was strange that the Necromancer had cut his wrists. As torture goes, that was relatively painless.

Tauriel swallowed hard as the truth assaulted her mind.

Legolas had tried to kill himself.

Perhaps he had thought she abandoned him and saw no reason to live.

Perhaps he knew he would fall and his pride wished him to go on his own terms.

Tauriel had once survived a time she feared he would fade.

Now, she knew that this had been so much worse.

For the first time in so long, he had seemed happy.

And a unspeakable evil had broken – nay, shattered – that.

Tauriel grasped his wrist tightly, wrapping her hand around the still warm flesh. She dissolved into pained cries, not caring who heard her.

After all, she had promised Legolas' escape, not her own.

If he could not leave, then why should she be allowed to?

She felt a slight movement in Legolas' wrist. Ignoring it, not allowing it to touch her through her grief, she hardly noticed.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Tauriel let go of his wrist, looking at Legolas with red-rimmed eyes full of wonder.

She had just felt his heartbeat through her lament.

His heartbeat.

He was alive.

Immediately, she put an ear to his chest, listening for his breathing. A soft whoosh echoed through her ear, but it was obviously pained.

"Legolas," she breathed, tears of joy and pain and horror rising in her eyes.

The elf – her prince, her friend, her companion – was alive.

Tauriel whispered his name again, needing to hear something other than the shattering silence.

Legolas groaned in response, his eyes fluttering as his consciousness returned.

Then as she watched, his eyes opened.

And dark pupils looked up at her, blank and lifeless, no light hidden in the depths.

Tauriel felt her joy be shot by a thousand arrows, each piercing her heart as well.

Yes, Legolas was alive, but Tauriel feared that his soul was not.

And as she laid there, too shocked and pained to move, she saw the pool of blood expanding outward.

It took until it reached the toe of her boot for her to realize that even if he was alive, it could not be for too long if he continued to bleed out onto the shadowy stones.

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Gandalf heard the chanting in Black Speech. With horror, he recognized the words almost immediately.

He had never heard them spoken, but he had heard of the spell.

Morgoth had used it, back in the days before Sauron had rose to power, when Gandalf had first entered the world to aid Middle Earth.

He had spoken the words of unspeakable evil, words that no human would ever dare to speak.

They were meant to destroy and kill, commanding shadows that felt no allegiance to man or life. They were born of darkness and used the caster for their own benefit, if they could manage it – twisting him into the shadow-world.

The words Sauron uttered were the words that had been used to create the first orcs.

They had twisted elves –fair, high elves – into the abominations that only wished to cause pain and suffering.

The words had made elves – elves! – long for torture and to eat the flesh of other living beings.

Gandalf knew that the elf would not hold out for much longer. Already the elf had been near-madness if not there already.

As the screams continued, Gandalf saw another elf – a maiden – streaking past through Dol Guldur. Gandalf knew that she must have been trying to rescue the prince.

A dwarf – Kili! – emerged behind her, grasping her wrist and speaking urgently with her.

Elbereth Gilthoniel! What was Kili doing here? He was supposed to have entered the Lonely Mountain. Had the dwarves failed?

And why were they travelling to apparently rescue the Prince of Mirkwood?

Gandalf watched in astonishment as the elleth broke away and ran, feet making no sound on the stones.

Gandalf tried to catch Kili's attention, banging on the bars of his imprisonment.

Finally, Kili looked over and his mouth dropped rather comically open.

As Kili raced over, Gandalf heard Legolas Greenleaf's cries cease.

Bending his head forward,Gandalf whispered a prayter for the fallen elf, hoping that he might have lived through the spell that had twisted many beings before him into servants of the dark.

In his heart, Gandalf feared that hope was fruitless, and as the elleth's cries broke the sudden silence, he knew that the unspeakable had happened.

Gandalf feared that the prince, already through so much in his short life, wasn't going to survive his hardship.

The best Gandalf feared to hope for was that he was not too far gone to find peace in the West, and that he could join his family there.

If not, then the elf was fated to wander the shadow world after his death, wraith-like and destroyed, his soul lingering on, a slave to darkness.

T'was a fate he would wish unto no being, but fate had proven – time and time again over the ages – that not even a Maia could challenge its wishes.

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**Hey, guys! Sorry it's been so long – school kind of exploded on me with work.**

**Good news was that the Chemistry test I spent last night studying for instead of writing this was a success – 103/100!**

***I know the Black Speech line is weird and probably completely wrong grammar wise... However, Black Speech is not a finished language, and I did not have many words to choose from or sentences to fix my grammar off of...**

**Tell me what you think! Please review!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or LotR!**


	16. The Istar

Tauriel grasped Legolas' limp body in her arms.

He stared up at her, not protesting, not reacting as she lifted him. Tauriel had to heal him, but they first had to leave Dol Guldur. Legolas hung like a limp weight in her arms.

She feared for his soul. His eyes drifted closed again – he was lost to the dark world of unconsciousness.

She feared his soul would never awaken.

Yet, she could not prevent hope from building up in her heart, causing her arms to tremble and vibrate. She tried to stay steady – moving Legolas was not a good idea, though she had to do it. The darkness tore at her as she comforted the elf in her arms, knowing he could not hear her, knowing he did not recognize her in his present state.

She stood and walked away from the shadow, not allowing it to touch her, to prevent her from saving her friend. It wished to trap Legolas' heart into its cage of hate. Tauriel would not allow that. She would save him.

Tauriel would settle for nothing less.

She walked – her pace brisk but smooth as to not harm Legolas further – and she left the ruins. To her surprise – though certainly not to her dismay – she heard no footsteps following her own. They had not noticed her rescuing Legolas.

Shocking, but not something she could ponder at the moment. She reached the hidden – poorly though it had worked – area that she had left the dwarves staring after her. They were not to be seen.

She spun, surprised, but she could not see them. Straining her ears, she wondered if they had been taken captive; however, it was hard to believe that she had heard nothing.

Unless she had been too captivated with the prince?

A smile tugged at her lips for the sheerest moment – trust Legolas to pull the attention away from dwarves even when he was unconscious.

Then the smile that had barely been there fell, and she knew she had to search.

A loud smash of something on metal interrupted her thoughts. Turning, she heard a loud dwarven curse. Though she did not recognize the voice, she knew it had to be one of her companions. She ran over, still clutching Legolas' thin body tight in her arms. Sincerely, Tauriel hoped she was not about to enter a fight because her weapons were near useless if she could not handle them.

To fight, she would have to lay Legolas on the ground, and she knew that – even with their good fortune – that he would be slain if left unattended. She reached the source of the sound in only a few moments, and to her greatest shock, saw that the dwarves attempted to release another prisoner.

She stared at the man, wondering why the dwarves worked so hard – slamming weapons into the iron bars of the prison – to release this one captive.

"Gandalf," Kili said, looking desperate. "T'is not working."

Gandalf.

Tauriel knew that name, though it was not the one her people spoke. Gandalf the Istar.

It was of great fortune that they had happened upon one of the great wizards. Tauriel had never met him, but she knew of the role he played in Middle Earth.

"Mithrandir," she said, her voice quiet but heard in the tense silence. "Tell me: how is an Istar captured by a mere human with a talent for controlling shadows?" The dwarves startled, spinning around to look at her. Mithrandir did as well, looking at her with surprise.

Then he saw the elf in her arms. Ignoring her comment, he looked at Legolas with worry.

"Has he fallen to shadow?" he asked her.

"Nay," Tauriel said, gratitude and relief dripping from her tone. "Though I fear they whisper in his mind."

"He is wounded," Mithrandir stated.

"Many speak of your ability to reason, great Istar. Must you speak of the obvious?" Tauriel said, irritation leaking into her voice.

The wizard looked surprised at her harsh words. Tauriel glared at him, knowing his weak appearance was truly a lie. He held great power gifted to him by the Valar themselves. She respected him, but by no means would she allow time to be wasted on his behalf.

"Please, Tauriel," Fili said. "We must rescue him. He was of our company."

Tauriel scoffed.

"And I now know why dwarves attempted to set out and antagonize a dragon. They had a meddlesome Istar on their side."

"Please, my lady," Kili said, looking up at Tauriel. Tauriel glanced at him, and her gaze softened as she saw the slight – for his pride allowed no more – pleading and fear in his eyes.

She looked up, gaze cold, at the wizard.

"What must we do, Mithrandir?" she asked.

"You must enter Dol Guldur and search for my staff," Gandalf said. "With it, I can escape these bars."

Tauriel, forgetting the dwarves for a moment, tensed her muscles, longing to clench her fists but still holding Legolas in her arms.

She could feel the blood running down her arm.

"We have not the time! Legolas withers as we speak. Your strength does not lie alone in your staff. Summon it to you, Mithrandir. Do not test my patience with faulty, hopeless tasks."

"I dare not summon it to me for that would be to challenge Sauron into a battle of wits. You act as if I fight a human – did you not know that the force was much greater than any human could ever be?"

"I cannot risk my companion to complete that task. Alas, the others will not leave without you, Mithrandir. Tell me: is there no other path?"

"I fear not," Mithrandir said. "I can heal Legolas with my staff in hand. Without, I am powerless to help him."

"Tauriel!" Fili said. She turned. "Bind Legolas' wounds – I know you are able. We shall go find Gandalf's staff. Fear not, we will make haste."

Tauriel looked down upon Fili – her companion, her friend in the long hours of their journey. She stared at him, stricken, hating that she could help them on the perilous task they planned to undertake. Alas, she could not abandon her prince.

Unable to argue, she nodded once, harshly.

"Be safe," she whispered. "Be agile. Use your weapons well – if you must – for in your hands lie the life of their true owner. Fili looked at the elven knife he wielded, then at the prince lying pale and still in Tauriel's arms. Without another word, he turned and with the others, began to move stealthily towards Dol Guldur.

Tauriel looked around, knowing there was no true area of seclusion that she could access. Knowing she would most likely need Mithrandir's help before everything was over, she was loathe to travel far from his prison.

Fearing to be caught by the army moving steadily below her, she knelt to the ground, laying Legolas on the stones before her. Mithrandir – to her slight ire – leaned beside him, moving with a deftness that betrayed his weak appearance.

"Has he awoken since you found him?" Mithrandir asked. Tauriel looked at him, annoyed for a moment, before realizing that he only wanted to help Legolas. She would work with the wizard for that.

"Ai, but he responded to name alone; he did not appear to recognize me."

"Was he delusional? Did he respond at all?" the wizard pressed, firing off the questions with a scarily pointed concern.

"He did not respond to imagined forces, but he responded to the very real pain."

Tauriel brushed aside the tattered tunic; it was so destroyed that she did not even have to remove it. Legolas' chest was covered in small wounds – nothing serious but by no means harmless or painless.

Tauriel knew that infection could set in quickly – not to mention te vile poisons used by orcs and other dark beings. However, there were no visible signs of poison that she – an untrained healer knowing only the battlefield basics – could detect. There was nothing she could currently do for the small lacerations.

Turning the elf gently, she saw that there was a large gash – the source of the blood she had seen falling from him. The blood still moved – albeit more sluggishly. Tauriel ripped a large block from her elven cloak. Though not sanitary, the covering would do to stop the blood flow. that was her greatest concern. Legolas looked pale and weak; losing blood could – and would if she did not hurry – kill him quickly.

Wrapping the long strip over his wounded side and securing it tightly, she felt him gasp with pain. Relieved that he was beginning to wake, she maneuvered him to his back once again. Blue eyes, bloodshot with exhaustion and pain, looked up at her. She saw a flicker of confusion as Legolas looked upon her.

"Tauriel," he breathed, voice hoarse and hardly a whisper. "Dead… trick…"

And with that, his consciousness fled once more, leaving Tauriel speechless from his cryptic words.

"I – what did he mean?" she demanded, turning to the Istar. Mithrandir sighed.

"Sauron would have tried much to break the young prince. He may perhaps have spoken falsely of your death at the orc's hands."

"But – we fought together! Surely he knows –"

"Does one know anything for sure when trapped in the everlasting shadow?"

Tauriel swallowed hard, embracing the limb elf sprawled out before her. Unwrapping her cloak, she draped it over his body, trying to keep him warm.

In his vulnerable position, the warmth was needed.

She thought back to the battle. She had abandoned Legolas, leaving him to be captured.

He would have wondered if she betrayed him or if she was dead.

It pained her that he believed her more likely to die than to leave him.

He had trusted her, knowing - falsely – that she was at his back.

And she had betrayed him, leaving him alone to face the powers of the Necromancer – of Sauron himself.

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**Hey, guys! Tauriel was really at the end of her nerve on this one – she took out a lot on Gandalf (which I wasn't planning on when I started this chapter…)**

**Anyway, tell me what you think! I'm sorry it took so long to get this up. What has it been? Seven days? Well, I did only promise updates that often.**

**Please review!**

**Thanks to all my old reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien! And I don't own anything movieverse either!**


	17. The Search

Ӧin followed Fili as he led the way into Dol Guldur. The oppressive darkness seemed to whisper in his ears. Dark thoughts trailed through his mind, calling at him, mocking him. The shadow was loathe to release its great prisoner.

And Gandalf the Grey was great.

He held power – greater than any Ӧin had ever seen. The air itself rumbled with it, swirling around him. Yet, he remained hidden.

Gandalf the Grey knew Middle Earth well. For years, he wandered the world, and he knew its people.

They judged – sometimes falsely – him, seeing his beard, seeing the wrinkles in his face.

Many thought he had lost his fearsome strength. If they even knew of it in the first place. Ӧin had heard stories of people mistaking Gandalf for a "vagabond" or another ridiculous commoner.

Those who knew him knew differently. His strength was disguised, clever and hidden. Gandalf did not draw upon it often, but one could see it in the way he walked and fought. He felt the creaking of age in his bones, but his power stopped its effects.

For Gandalf was a great Istar. He used his power sparingly, traveling among those he protected, never too good to talk to them. Yes, sometimes he was cryptic, but one with that much power had to be.

It was terrible to see him slumped across the iron cage, trapped and helpless. Ӧin knew his strength was not all measured in his staff. That was folly and foolish.

Though not an easy feat, a staff could be separated from a Maia.

Gandalf had been overpowered by the shadow. And now, he and his three companions travelled inside of it?

They had not been detected?

Or – or was the enemy sitting in shadow, waiting for them to lay out their plans and fall before him, stumble upon him.

The dwarves penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness**

The stillness was overpowering, draining his awareness, lulling him into a sense of security. Nothing moved but they.

It was almost as if the darkness wished for them to escape with their intended goal – and to escape alive.

What did they leave with?

They left with a staff – Gandalf's staff. Perhaps, the darkness knew that Gandalf would be saved – if not by dwarves, then by the other Maia.

Gandalf had said that the darkness was Sauron. In the last age, Sauron did not skulk in the shadows. He could be biding time, trying to grow stronger.

Sauron could not wish for a direct confrontation before he was ready to fill the land with impenetrable darkness.

And the elf.

The maiden had saved the elf they had come for. Ӧin was no fool. He saw that the elf had no normal glow. Perhaps Sauron wished for the elf to leave because the elf was already poisoned by shadow.

Elves always had been weak creatures. If they had been stronger, then orcs wouldn't exist.

The maid planned to return the elf to Mirkwood – to lay one of Sauron's servants on the stones before Thranduil.

From there – the elf could kill him.

And had the maid not called him a prince?

If Thranduil was dead, then the elf taken by shadow would rule over one of the three elven realms.

Sauron would have power he had never had before and knowledge that had never been searched for.

With that power, darkness would rule, bringing night and stillness and black.

And the stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention. It looked at Ӧin with a vengeful aspect. **

However, it also called to him. He could be great – strong. Not even a dragon would dare to stand before him in defiance.

There was a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart.**

Ӧin stared into it, into the black, into the unknown. Everything could be his – if only he stepped forward.

Then he remembered the elf.

The elf – Legolas – had seemed stoic and proud – arrogant and foolish as all elves but still strong.

He was a fearsome warrior that could shoot down orcs with both bow and blade. They fell before him with ease, and his knives were sharp. A few times, he had caught a glimpse of the elf while in the barrels.

He had seen the blood falling from his blade and the accuracy of the arrows whizzing past his head.

And the elf fell into shadow. Ӧin could see it in his form – the tense muscles. Weak or not, he was not the same elf as he had been.

At the best, Legolas had been touched by the darkness – only touched – something solvable.

However, the shadows would not willingly lose the elf – not unless he was under their control.

The maiden hadn't understood it – but she was too close to the elf to understand. She wanted him to be sane too much to see any affliction of his mind.

He refused to be as weak as the flighty creature.

The elf had been tempted before. Now, the same monster called out to Ӧin.

He lived then before Ӧin; he lived as much as he had ever lived – a shadow of splendid appearances, of frightful realities; a shadow darker than the shadow of the night.**

Legolas had been surrounded by the same darkness he was. And he gave in.

Ӧin straightened his shoulders.

Let it never be said that dwarves were weaker than elves – in mind or brute strength.

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Tauriel bent over the broken form of her companion and friend. He was still – lost to unconscious – deep in a dreamless sleep. His eyes were closed – which, although not unexpected – was rather disconcerting.

She wished she had better means to heal him, but it was hard enough to even wrap the deeper cuts. Looking at the bandages on his wrists, she thanked the Valor that she did not have to staunch any wound bleeding as heavily as those would have.

In that respect, she was lucky.

The fact that Legolas tried to kill himself – that was not so lucky. Tauriel did not dare to think what his mind would be like.

However, Legolas had recognized her. She knew the Prince's family had not recognized him before they sailed. They had only stared – straight through him, blank gaze unforgiving and solemn.

Legolas' had seen her! That brought her great joy for Legolas' gaze had meant that his soul was not insane.

His mind was, perhaps, mad, but his soul was intelligent.**

And the mind could be healed. Yes, it would take time, but they had yéni to fix it.

Perhaps, there would be silence once more. Legolas could disappear for months – again. But he was strong.

He would get through it!

The dark would not win!

Tauriel knew that all was not lost. The bleeding was slowing – the wound was not life-threatening. Legolas was strong enough to make it.

And Tauriel would help him in any way she could.

After all, he was her friend, her companion, her prince.

And she would never betray him.

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Mithrandir looked at the elf lying on the stones. He could see the maiden – Tauriel – and how she looked upon her fallen comrade with joy. She thought he could heal.

Gandalf hoped it was true.

His posture and pale face spoke of shadows.

His elven glow was nearly gone.

Mithrandir worried that it was too late for the elf.

However, he had recognized Tauriel. That was a good sign.

The princeling was strong. Gandalf knew he had great strength with what he had previously overcome.

He only hoped that this was not too great a trial for the young elf.

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**Hey, guys! I'm really sorry for the long wait. I also apologize for the short chapter. It was either post this or be unable to post until Tuesday. I chose to post this.**

**I compete in gymnastics (Level 8!) and Feb. is my busiest month. I have to train 16-20 hours every week as well as compete every weekend this month. Add in school and homework… not much free time.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own LotR or the Hobbit!**


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